Transformers: Juxtaposition
by Vaeru
Summary: Sparkbearer Saga: Part I. G1-based AU. A car wreck on a rainy night leads to the oddest partnership imaginable. A disembodied voice, possessed cars, alien robots, kidnapping, rescue, abduction, sparks, keys, and tomato sandwiches... Read if you dare.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild language and violence. Some possible mature themes. Other warnings will be posted on a chapter-to-chapter basis.

**Author Notes: **Yes, it's a dreaded OC, and I can't really bring myself to care. This is my 'for fun' story, my playtime in the Transformers universe. No guarantees on regular updates. I can say that I have quite a long plot ahead, and I'll try to make it as interesting as possible.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Prologue**

* * *

_All of us are crazy in one way or another. **-Yiddish proverb**_

* * *

"You say... that you've been hearing voices?" 

The doctor was in his fifties, intelligent eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses and dark hair just beginning to gray at his temples. His pen moved across the notepad with a series of rapid sweeps and slashes that seemed preternaturally loud in the small office. Evelyn's eyes tracked the movement as though the pen were something small and poisonous that she would very much like to squish.

"Voice," she corrected, huffing a tense little sigh. "Singular."

"Voice," the doctor echoed. The pen _skritch-skritch_ed another note, and Evelyn glanced up at the wall clock. Twenty more minutes until freedom. "You've been hearing _a_ voice. Can you tell me about it?"

"A guy's voice. Sometimes it says stuff to me. Mostly it sounds like someone thinking out loud. Loudly. At length."

_Skritch-skritch. _"Does this voice tell you to do things?"

"No." She rubbed at the light medical glove that covered her right arm. "When I watch TV, sometimes it wants me to change the channel. It wants to watch Discovery."

The doctor sent her a strange look before recovering his normal air of placid neutrality. _Skritch-skritch. _"You... argue with it?"

"Not really. I like Discovery."

A pause. "Do you think that's significant?"

It was Evelyn's turn to give a strange look. "Liking the Discovery Channel?"

"That you share the same interests."

"If watching documentaries gets it to shut up, I'm all for it."

The doctor took a moment to reread through his notes. "I see. Can you pinpoint a time when this first started?"

Evelyn touched the glove again, frowning. "Four months ago. I was in an accident."

_Red and white and blue swirling and sparkling on falling rain. Sirens as a distant, annoying buzz and shadowed figures moving at the edges of vision. Metal looming to one side, crumpled red and black, and a tire beside her head, shredded. Cold water above and muddy grass below, fire in her arm, burning in her chest, shards of glass stabbing behind her eyes as voices called and hands prodded, and everything was pain, pain, _pain...

"You mentioned that in your intake forms, I believe." The doctor flipped through her file and skimmed one of the sheets near the front. He nodded. "April seventeenth, correct? Would you like to tell me about it?"

"Nothing much to tell." Evelyn uncrossed and crossed her legs, hiding a wince at the movement, smoothing a fold in her skirt and taking the opportunity to rub at her thigh. "The police say that someone T-boned my car at an intersection. Cracked some ribs, tore some muscles. Gave me this." She gestured at the glove. "I woke up in the hospital two weeks later."

"And that's when you first heard the voice?"

"It reamed me for taking so long to wake up and complained about being bored."

"I... see." _Skritch-skritch._

* * *

Evelyn tucked the prescription note into her purse and pulled out her sunglasses as the afternoon sunlight assaulted her eyes. She looked between the five short stairs down to the parking lot and the long, roundabout wheelchair ramp. With a sigh, she made her careful, limping way down the latter, hand hovering over the metal handrail. 

'_Exactly how often are you planning on coming here?'_

She pulled her keys from her purse with perhaps a little more force than was needed, teeth gritted in a snarl. A subdued-looking couple gave her an odd look as they passed her on the sidewalk, but she ignored them and continued past into the parking lot.

'_And you're ignoring me. How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? I didn't plan this, you know.'_

The key grated into the lock of the battered, out-dated four-door that had taken the place of her much beloved and dearly missed Taurus. Sitting was a relief for her thigh even though the interior of the car was muggy as hell and twice as hot, and she turned on the engine, cranked the vents on high, and pulled out of the parking space.

'_How do you organics stand this? It's like a smelting furnace in here, and you don't even have interior coolant systems.'_

Evelyn sighed, braking at the exit of the parking lot and taking the opportunity to buckle her seatbelt. _And mother wondered why I thought I was insane._

'_You're not insane.'_

"Says the voice in my head." She flicked on a turn signal and waited for a break in traffic, relieved when the air-conditioning finally began to blow cold.

'_That's really rude, you know. You can't keep calling me "voice" forever. I told you my name.'_

_Giving you a name completely undermines my going to a psychiatrist to try to get _rid_ of you._ She waited for a dirty pickup to pass and pulled onto the street. Afternoon traffic was thin and mild in the downtown area of Mason but steadily thickened as she drew nearer to the main thoroughfare. _I'm not having this conversation._

'_You don't have to give me anything. I _have_ a name. Come on, say it.'_

_Shut up._ A left turn onto Broad Street, and then two blocks until Highway 19. She was abruptly facing the sun and pulled down the visor to shade her eyes.

'_Say it! You know you want to. C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! You can do it... One little word...'_

_It's not even a name. It's an accident, like the one I'm going to have if you don't hush!_ She signaled a lane change and slid into the turn lane outside the pharmacy parking lot. Cars whizzed by on both sides, and she darted quickly through a gap, scraping the undercarriage on the uneven pavement at the parking lot entrance. Finding a space was ridiculously easy in the near-empty lot.

'_Say it and I'll be quiet.' _The voice chortled like a little kid who knew that mommy was one _please_ away from breaking. _'Say it, say it, say it!'_

She climbed out of the car and slammed the door, digging into her purse for the prescription slip before she even neared the doors to the pharmacy. "Shut up, Sideswipe."

* * *

**End Prologue**


	2. Theft

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

**

* * *

Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild language warning.

**Author Notes: **Someone asked about what series this is based off of. As I said before, this is my playtime in the Transformers universe, so it will follow no pre-published plotline; however, I will be using the G1 Transformers more than anything else, because... Really. What's a Transformers story without Ratchet, Jazz, or the Twins?

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter One**

* * *

"_This must be Thursday," said Arthur musing to himself, sinking low over his beer, "I never could get the hang of Thursdays."**  
–Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams**_

* * *

"Stolen? What do you _mean, _'stolen'? My car is a big, metal pretzel. Who would want to steal it?" 

Her office, a small closet-like space in the basement of Morris Hall, held more filing cabinets and storage boxes than the records room of the college library. The sole point of color was a dejected little African violet set beneath the desk lamp, and tiny fingers of daylight pried their way inside through the little window set high on the wall at the back of the room, playing on the swirls of dust hanging in the air. Evelyn sat in an awkward, half-curled position beside one of the open file cabinet drawers, leaning back against the sturdy mass of her desk and surrounded by stacks upon stacks of files and papers and folders and who-knew-what-else.

Her attention was focused upon her cell phone, the plastic case creaking in her tightening grip and held against her head hard enough to make her ear ache. The voice on the other end was faint and buzzed with static; basements as a rule were bad for reception, and her office doubly so.

"_We dunno why, Ms. Hughes. We just know it's gone. The police are here right now, takin' statements. They wanna talk to you."_

"I..." She glanced at her wristwatch. "I need to finish up over here, first. I can be there in... forty minutes? Is that okay?"

"_Gimme a sec."_ The _clunk_ of a receiver being set down on a hard surface echoed down the line. Evelyn sighed and picked up one of the files, halfheartedly scanning the contents. Language drift in European countries, 1400s through 1700s. She returned the file to the cabinet and reached for another.

A light knock startled her, and she leaned around the edge of her desk to see the door. "Hello?"

"_¡Qué lío!"_ A young man, dark-haired and tan with mahogany-brown eyes, peered into the room as though expecting a monster to leap out of the mess and attack him. "Did a hurricane hit?"

"Miguel?" Evelyn waved him into the room. "Miguel! _¿Cómo estás?_ What are you doing here?"

The young man grinned at her, smiling like the sun appearing from behind a wall of clouds. "_Bien, Profesora Hughes._ Beth said she saw you come in, and I just had to see for myself. Half the grads think that you're dead, you know."

"Ha. In the words of Mark Twain, 'The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.'" She looked at the young man with a fond little smile. "Jamie brought the card by. Tell everyone thanks, okay? It was really sweet."

"No problem." He glanced at the phone. "You busy? I can come back."

"I'm on hold." She pointed at an old wooden chair set next to the door. "Sit. How are classes going?"

"Terry broke the Scantron machine. Nine hundred linguistics tests, and we're stuck hand-grading." The chair squealed alarmingly as he took a seat, but it held his weight with all the stubbornness of forty-odd year old wood. Miguel's grin took on a Puck-ish tilt. "And Professor Richardson can't teach worth beans... but you knew that."

"John Richardson is a classic culture professor. Of course he can't teach linguistics." Evelyn glanced at another file. Phonemes and vowel patterns in Germanic languages. Back into the cabinet it went. "I hope you're doing damage control."

"We try. You're coming back soon, right? We lowly grad students can only do so much against the evils of incompetence."

"Not any time soon. I'm on medical leave through at least the end of September, stuck writing articles and consulting. You'll just—" A series of scrapes and clatters sounded from her phone, and she tensed. Miguel opened his mouth to say something further, snapping it shut when she raised a hand in a _hush_ signal.

"_Ms. Hughes? You still there?"_

"I'm here."

"_They say they'll be another half-hour, but they're willin' to wait to meet you. That alright?"_

"Sure. Just let me straighten things out here. I'll be over as soon as I can."

"_We'll be seein' you in a little while, then. Thank you, Ms. Hughes. We're real sorry about all this."_

"Thank you." She closed her phone, setting it on the floor by her purse and looking forlornly at the mess surrounding her. Miguel watched with blatant curiosity.

"Is something wrong, Professor?"

She glanced at the grad student. Six years ago, that would have been her sitting in that chair, sincere and responsible and happy and –most importantly– _sane._ How time flies.

'_Says the organic that hasn't even lived half a vorn.'_

Evelyn clenched her fists, sending pain spiraling up her gloved arm when tender scar tissue protested the abuse. _Quiet, you. There's a _Friends_ marathon tonight, so unless you want to find out the father of Rachel's baby instead of watching your precious WWF, I'd be very, _very_ nice._

'_... You fight dirty.'_

"Someone stole my car." She reached for one of the smaller piles of folders and stacked it atop one of its brethren, repeating the process several times with other piles.

Miguel looked puzzled. "Just now, you mean? You need a ride?"

Evelyn blinked, pondered that, and then laughed a little, humorless laugh. "No, no. Someone stole my _old_ car. The one bent like a horseshoe."

"Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh.' Don't know what they'd want with it, unless they're into modern metal sculpture."

"Huh," he said. "I'll bet it's that new gang."

'_Gang?'_ It was strange, but she could _feel_ the voice perking up and paying attention.

"Gang?"

"On the news. You haven't seen?" He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "It's like something out of _Fast and the Furious._ There's this car gang that's been giving the cops hell for over a week now. It's gotta' be the mafia or something. The cars are _unbelievable."_ He breathed the last word reverently, eyes bright.

Evelyn stared at the young man she had mentored for the better part of the past six years. _Never took him for a car geek,_ she mused. "Sounds like tabloid hoo-ha to me."

"No, I'm serious. They've got pictures and everything. One of 'em looks like a Ferrari. A Ferrari! How incredible is that?"

The voice made a sound of disgust. _'What's so great about a stinking Ferrari? Kid has no taste.'_

"It's _incredible _that they haven't been caught. If I were a thief, I certainly wouldn't use a Ferrari as a getaway car." She had consolidated most of the mess into four very unsteady looking mounds, and she shoved these against the wall. The open file drawer she pushed shut, checking the lock even though there was not much point in securing a cabinet full of what basically amounted to the comprehensive history of the development of the English language. She glanced at her watch.

"Actually, Miguel, if you have the time, could you do me a favor? If you don't, I can get one of the secretaries to do it, but you actually know what all these are about. I need the set of folders on the Great Vowel Shift, to write up some notes for the English department at one of the local high schools, and I can't remember where I put them. I know they're in one of these piles. Could you find them and give them to Professor Grant to give to me? I really need to get going."

"Sure thing, professor."

"That'll be a huge help." Grabbing the edge of the desk, she pulled herself into a standing position, ever-careful of her thigh and arm. She retrieved her purse and phone from the floor and smiled at the young man. "Thank you so much, and be sure to tell everyone hello from me, alright?"

She extended her hand toward him. His eyes caught on the beige glove and his cheery mood faltered. He took her hand carefully, as though afraid it would break.

"Get better, alright, professor? It's just not the same without you around." He as serious as she had ever seen. Evelyn found herself at a loss for words, but he abruptly stepped away, sparkling grin back in place as he gestured flamboyantly toward the door, bowing. _"De prisa, profesora._ You don't want to be late! I'll take care of everything."

"_Gracias, _Miguel."

* * *

'_Your job is even more boring than it sounded. I didn't think that was possible.'_

August in Georgia was, as a rule, muggy. This August appeared determined to put all its predecessors to shame in terms of sheer misery caused and, in Evelyn's opinion, was succeeding stunningly. Exiting the building was akin to running headlong into a wall of hot, moist air, and it took a long moment before she felt able to breathe without gasping.

In addition to being damnably hot, the weather had other ways to make her miserable. The humidity made the medical glove itch worse than if her arm were coated in creepy, crawly caterpillars, and walking anywhere, no matter how short the distance, felt like a long, limping trek through Death Valley at high noon. The verdant greenery of the campus gardens was quite lost on her.

"That is not my job," muttered Evelyn. Her car loomed before her at last, a shining vision of plush seats and air-conditioned comfort. She reached for her purse.

'_You said you worked here. Isn't that the definition of a job?'_

She caught herself before she made the mistake of speaking aloud again. _I'm the department head for linguistics. I teach. I supervise the graduate program. _She scowled, lips twisting in a sneer. _Now, thanks to you and Mr. Therapist, I'm stuck writing stinking lecture notes for other professors because the college won't bring me back from medical leave until my cranium is no longer a frigging time-share—_

"And _where_ are my _goddamn keys?"_ She raked through the contents of her relatively small purse, pawing through the different sections.

'_In your pocket.'_

Her hand went to her thigh... and felt the familiar bumps and ridges of her key-chain beneath the fabric of her slacks. With forced calm and gritted teeth, she pulled them out, their merry jingling grating against her nerves like the shrieks of twisting, tortured metal. She unlocked the door, and as she slid into the driver's seat, she felt the voice contemplating her, watching her.

'_You know,'_ it said at last, _'I think you're right._

'_You are insane.'_

* * *

Evelyn was met in the parking lot of Forps & Davis Towing and Salvage by one of its namesakes, Randy Forps, a huge, broad-shouldered man whose hair appeared to grow healthily on every portion of his body save his head. He led her across the gravel parking lot and through the open chain-link gate beside the small office trailer. Cars of all colors, sizes, ages and wear stood in clumps and rows in the expansive salvage yard, stretching away like a jungle of giant beetle carcasses. The scents of dust, hot metal, and oil hung heavy in the air, the sun beating down upon the yard with the force of Hephaestus' hammer. 

"D'ya need help, ma'am?"

Evelyn glanced over to find her escort watching her with concern. He looked at her feet pointedly.

"Oh." The limp. "No. No, I'm fine. It's a lot better, actually. Thank you."

He did not appear convinced, but neither did he argue. "Yes'm. This way."

He led her past a cluster of gutted vehicles, and as they rounded a corner, she caught sight of two policemen standing beside a suspiciously open gap in the crowded lot.The taller of the two, an African-American with a mustache and neatly trimmed beard, had a notepad out, arms folded and pencil tapping against his bicep. The other, round-bellied and gray-haired, was peering at the ground, looking puzzled. Evelyn looked at the two policemen and then around at the surrounding cars, her mouth pursing into a confused frown.

"'Scuse me," called Mr. Forps, catching the pair's attention. "Officers? This is Ms. Hughes."

They closed the distance to the two policemen, Evelyn stumbling slightly when her foot caught on the edge of a strange, squarish pothole. The older officer nodded at her when she drew near.

"Tim Winder," he said gruffly, voice heavily laden with a 'Southern twang,' causing his name to come out more along the lines of _Tem Wahnder._

The other officer was friendlier, shaking her hand and smiling, rolling his eyes a little at his partner. "I'm Jim Jenner, Ms. Hughes. I'm sorry about the circumstances, but we could use any information you can give about this. It's an odd case. No tire tracks or sign of a second vehicle to tow the stolen vehicle. Our only suspect so far is Houdini himself."

"I'm sorry to hear that. It's nice to meet you both, officers." Evelyn looked around the lot once more, frown even more pronounced. "But... I think that there's been some sort of mistake."

"Mistake?" Officer Winder's head came up like that of a bloodhound catching the scent of his quarry. "Whadja' mean, mistake? Yer the car's owner, right?"

"That's right," agreed Evelyn. She pointed at a pathetic heap of cracked glass and crumpled blue metal lying off to one side. "_That_ car."

There was a long moment when all three men stared at the corpse of what had once been her pride and joy, her Taurus, affectionately and aptly nicknamed Jinx. In the back of her mind, the voice snickered.

Officer Jenner looked toward Randy. "Mr. Forps...?" he prompted.

The yard's owner rubbed his bald pate thoughtfully. "I coulda' sworn... Her name's on the paperwork, sir. I dunno." He straightened, eyes narrowing. "Actually, there _were _two cars signed in at the same time... There coulda' been a mix-up. They came in pretty late, as I recall, like three or four in the morning."

"D'ya know who owned th' other car?"

"No one." Mr. Forps shrugged. "No driver was ever found, from what I understand. I couldn't even get a make off it. The engine was a mess, too mangled for us to bother with, and whole panels were missing. Only thing I know is that it was something low-slung and sporty, painted bright red."

'_WHAT?!'_

* * *

The knife sliced cleanly through the red-orange orb, spattering the cutting board with juice and yellow seeds. Evelyn squinted against her ongoing headache and methodically disemboweled the tomato, lips pinched together and shoulders tense. In the living room, the muted mumble of her television provided a dull counterpoint to the squishy thud of each new meeting of knife and fruit. 

_'You're still mad.'_

_No, I'm not. Why would I be? _She slammed the knife down on the countertop and began to pile tomato segments onto a pair of mayonnaise-coated slices of bread. These she topped with salt and pepper and another pair of bread slices._ I enjoy getting knocked on my ass in front of total strangers. It's fun. And did I mention that I'm a masochist? This migraine is making my day. _

She slapped the two sandwiches on a plate, grabbed a bottle of Advil from the counter and a drink from the refrigerator, and made her way to the couch, sinking into the cushions and settling her plate and glass on the side table. She picked up the remote and flipped the channel. Images of six people playing in a fountain danced across the screen, accompanied by upbeat music.

_"—was gonna' be this way. Your job's a joke, you're broke, your love life's DOA..."_

_'Oh, don't do this. I said I was sorry!'_

She tipped out two of the headache pills and threw them into the back of her throat, taking a long swallow from her drink, wincing when one of the pills went down sideways._ Suck it up. _

_'Can we at least watch the news instead? I'll even settle for 24.' _

_Hush. I'm trying to watch. _

_'It was an honest mistake. I didn't know it would hurt you. You organics are so fragile...' _

Evelyn pulled her feet up on the seat cushions and lounged against the arm of the couch, singing along quietly. "I'll be there for you, when the rain starts to fall. I'll be there for you, like I've been there before..."

_'C'mon!'_

_I want you to remember this the next time you want to throw a temper tantrum._ If suffering through the voice's thunderous tirade of curses upon and threats against car thieves and their ilk had not been enough to ruin her day, keeling over in front of three strange men from the resultant pain had been more than sufficient.

She reached for one of the sandwiches. The voice made a sound somewhere between a gulp and a gag.

_'Please don't eat that. It's disgusting—'_

She took a large bite, relishing the salty-sweet taste of the tomato. She took extra care to _feel_ the unique texture of the sandwich, the smooth innards of the fruit and the oily mayonnaise.

_'—and slimy. Primus.' _The voice shuddered and curled in on itself.

She swallowed and took another bite. _Look on the bright side. If I hadn't talked them out of taking me to a hospital, I would have ordered extra jello just for you._

The voice moaned.

* * *

**End Chapter One**

* * *

_**¡Qué lío! – **(Spanish) What a mess!_

_**¿Cómo estás?/Bien. –** (Spanish) How are you?/Good._

_**Scantron-** a company, based in Irvine, California, that makes and sells (1) machine-readable papers on which pupils and students mark their answers to academic test questions, (2) the machines to grade them, (3) Survey and Test Scoring systems, and (4) image based data collection software and scanners (source: Wikipedia)_

_**Vorn-** Cybertronian unit of time, approx. 83 years (see the link in the author profile for more detailed information on Transformer time units)_

_**De prisa. –** (Spanish) Hurry._

_**Gracias. –** (Spanish) Thank you._


	3. Faces

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild language.

**Author Notes: **This has been one of the more fun projects I've taken on, though I'm impatient to get to the more robot-centric chapters. I can only hope that I'm not cranking out Mary-Sues and Gary-Stues without knowing it. Oh, well. Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Two**

* * *

_It's like déjà vu__ all over again. **–Yogi Berra**_

* * *

_The hospital was never quiet. During the day, there were the ever-present murmurs of voices up and down the hall, the clatter of footsteps, the squeak of wheels. At night there were the steps of nurses making their rounds and the buzz of fluorescent lighting and the hum of machinery. Even in her own head she never had silence; the ongoing mumble of that... _voice_ was never quiet, like a TV left on in the next room, and sometimes it would become loud and lucid, as though someone were leaning over her shoulder and speaking in her ear. _

_Oh, she missed silence._

_Now the various staff were going from room to room, retrieving the lunch trays that they had passed out an hour before. Evelyn's tray was very nearly untouched. The Salisbury steak was missing a corner, and a dent had been made in the mashed potatoes, but the peas and carrots had not been touched. Her juice was the only thing that she had finished completely, and the thought of more was vaguely appealing._

_The jello sat ostracized at the tray's edge; the mere sight of it set her stomach roiling, which was odd since she had enjoyed jello since well before kindergarten. She blamed her surroundings. The scent of disinfectant clung to everything, crawling into her lungs until she doubted she would ever smell anything else, and it tainted everything she placed in her mouth. Even the few varied bouquets around the room had no purchase against the acrid scent._

_A pen had been left on the bedside table. Feeling the numb boredom of the room pressing in on her, she retrieved it, twisting and reaching with her uninjured arm in a movement that pulled at protesting muscles and stressed unhappy bruises and aggravated her bandaged arm. _

_The napkin, stained with a blob of gray-brown sauce, presented itself as a convenient canvas, and Evelyn set to doodling. It was difficult, especially since the napkin insisted on twisting and shifting with each movement of the pen, but she persevered._

_It was a very small napkin, but she drew in every available inch. Squiggles. Stick people. Suns, moons, stars. Arabic characters. A handful of Greek letters. Some Japanese _kanji. _She did not notice when her tray was finally taken. She vaguely felt the passage of time but only returned to herself when the voice came._

'How do you know that symbol?'

_At the bottom corner of the napkin was a strange shape, roughly sketched with a series of skewed, interlacing lines, vaguely square. It looked like a little face. She frowned. She did not remember seeing it before... at least, not in real life. _

_But her dreams had been very strange..._

_She set down the pen and examined the little mystery. The ink was blue, but she had the feeling that another color would have been much more suited. _

_Red, she thought. _

_Yes. It would have looked much better in red._

* * *

'_Well, of course _you_ aren't upset. It wasn't your body that was stolen!'_

Evelyn stopped dead on her way across the high school parking lot. Her hands clenched around the bundle of folders in her arms, eyes narrowing.

_Stop just a moment,_ she thought firmly, _and _think_ about that statement._

The voice was silent.

"Right..." she breathed. Hitching her load into a more comfortable position, she made her way into the old brick building. Everything lay silent and empty, but a dull murmur of voices pervaded the school, the combined noise of classes upon classes going on all around. The main office lay just off the lobby, and a bored-looking student looked up from behind the welcome desk as she entered.

"Yeah?" The student's jaw moved steadily around a wad of chewing gum, and an occasional loud _pop_ rang out in the office.

Evelyn's mind conjured up an image of a cow and superimposed it over the teenager. It fit.

"My name is Evelyn Hughes. I'm here to drop these off with Mr. Ivester."

"'kay." The student reached into a drawer and pulled out a form. "Fill these out and I'll get you a badge, 'kay?"

The student dug around in another drawer while Evelyn nabbed a pen and filled in the blank spaces. A clip-on visitor badge dropped on the counter, and the student sat, staring at Evelyn expectantly. The professor stifled a sigh and handed over the form. The student did not so much as look at it, merely dropped in a wire basket atop a filing cabinet, and gestured at the door to the lobby. "Go to your right, down the first hallway. Turn left at the intersection and go up the stairs. Ivester's in room two-fifty-three."

"Thank you."

The student was lousy at giving directions. A left turn at the indicated hallway revealed no stairs. She tried the other direction, but that merely led her to another intersection, and she suddenly found herself descending a ramp into the school basement. The fluorescent lights reflected off the institution-white walls and mottled beige floor tiles, and her every movement echoed. She stopped.

Footsteps approached from around a corner, and she moved toward the sound. _Please be an adult,_ she thought. A moment later, she revised that: _Please be an adult with a sense of direction._

'_Hah.'_

She rounded the corner and had just a second's impression of tall, red haired someone and a stained t-shirt before the lights overhead flickered and buzzed, and the hallway dropped into darkness.

The voice made an incoherent noise of surprise, and Evelyn squawked as something big, warm, and of the approximate softness of a brick wall plowed into her and sent her sprawling. The files scattered with the sound of a flock of birds taking flight, and the brick wall let out a loud curse and fell atop her.

The next few moments were a muddled jumble of tangled limbs and crumpling papers and many varied versions of _let go_ and _ow_ and _sorry _and _oomph_ and _get off._ From surrounding classrooms came a chorus of yells and loud clamoring noises as classes were disrupted by the blackout.

"Jesus." The wall smelled of aftershave and motor oil. It finally managed push itself away without planting its hands in her stomach or... elsewhere. "Jesus," it repeated. "I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

Evelyn sat up slowly, cradling her arm and panting, staring blindly into the dark. She placed her hand on the cold floor to steady herself and felt one of the scattered papers wrinkle and crackle beneath her palm. She took a deep breath. "Ah... Yes. Fine."

"Damn blackouts." Crackling sounds sounded from the wall's direction as it shifted position, and Evelyn winced. _There goes one file._

She sighed. "Perfect." She curled her legs close to her body and rubbed at her thigh. "Third one this month?"

"Fourth."

She grimaced. "Perfect," she said again. Several long minutes of silence passed, broken only by the raised voices from surrounding classroom and the crackle of paper when one of them shifted.

The voice stirred in the back of her mind. For being completely in her head, it made a sound remarkably like someone clearing his throat.

'_Was that...'_ It broke off, sounding curious yet oddly timid. _'Did you..._

'_Was that... sex?'_

Evelyn's throat closed around an indignant squeak. The lights chose that moment to return to life.

* * *

A steaming cup of coffee was set before her, and she smiled at the giver. The man grinned back, laugh-lines around his eyes deepening with the expression. 

"Doing better?" he asked.

"Much."

"Never seen anyone quite that shade of red before. I thought you were having an attack or something."

"Or something," she said wryly. _You are _never_ watching TV _ever again.

'_You're the one who watches soaps. I'm just along for the ride.'_

_Shut up._

The small office, even smaller than her little corner of Morris Hall, was piled high with papers and knickknacks and boxes and a great variety of mechanical parts. The walls were plastered with pictures of cars and motorcycles with the occasional newspaper clipping thrown in. A framed diploma leaned awkwardly to one side in its little corner behind the desk, the name _Christopher M. Stephens_ boldly printed in decorative, curling letters.

A Plexiglas window dominated one wall, looking out on an expansive room filled with several cars in differing states of assembly and repair. High school students clustered around the vehicles, tampering with various parts. More students stood near one of the walls, working with different power tools that threw sparks and let out shrieks and bellows that echoed in the cavernous space. The entire scene was highlighted by the brilliant sunlight streaming in the open garage doors at the opposite side of the room, looking out on an empty gravel lot somewhere behind the school.

"I'm pretty lucky, I guess," said the man abruptly.

Evelyn looked away from her examination of the garage and fixed him with a questioning look.

"This classroom," he said. "With these blackouts happening every week, most of the classes get shut down. With the longer ones, kids just sit in the dark and stew. Down here, we can just roll our class outside and keep right on."

"I'll bet the students are thrilled," said Evelyn.

He laughed. "Maybe. These are the kids you don't want bored, that's for sure."

Evelyn made a small noise of agreement, taking a sip of her coffee and feeling it burn as it slid down her throat. Her gaze drifted to the dejected pile of wrinkled, scuffed folders set on the corner of the desk. Her mouth twisted in a frown.

"Sorry about that," said the man.

"Not your fault. Thank you for helping me gather it back up. Most of it wasn't even necessary. All Mr. Ivester wanted was a set of lecture notes and some pointers, but one of the secretaries got a little copier-happy, and... Well, _I _don't need them."

"Ivester's a pack-rat, and he thinks paper is sacred. He'll give them a good home. I can even have one of my kids run it up for you." He eyed the files, taking in the perfect shoe-print on the topmost cover. "'Course, it'd probably be good if you wrote a note explaining the mess, so I can get my kid back afterwards. There's lots of paperwork for losing a student."

Evelyn laughed, and he handed her a stack of post-it notes and a pen. While she sketched out a short note of apology-_cum-_explanation, he leaned over and rapped sharply on the window, making a _come here_ sign to someone outside.

The door opened, admitting a tomboyish young woman clad in stained overalls and work-gloves. She looked suspiciously at Evelyn before turning to her teacher. "Whatever it is, I din' do it."

The man's expression was one fond amusement. "Kyra," he said, "this is Professor Hughes from the college. Ms. Hughes," he turned to Evelyn, "this is Kyra Bryant, one of my best and longest-enrolled students."

"Thanks, teach," grumbled the girl.

Evelyn extended her hand. "Pleased to meet you, Kyra."

The girl's grin widened into a smirk as she accepted the handshake. "It's how the Japanese pronounce _killer." _

The voice broke into a long, loud bout of hysterical laughter.

Evelyn blinked, glanced at the teacher (who had one hand over his eyes), and smiled back at the girl. "It also means _lady_ in Greek."

The girl looked disappointed, then noticed the glove upon Evelyn's arm. "Whassat? You got leprosy or something?"

"I was in a car accident. It protects my skin while I heal."

"Drunk driver?"

"Don't remember."

"Sucks for you."

"I think so."

The voice trailed off into unsteady chortles. _'I like her,'_ it declared.

The man looked at his student, one eyebrow arched. "Would you please run that pile of papers up to Mr. Ivester's room, Killer?"

"Why not?" She swept the pile into her arms, and Evelyn reached up to stick the note on the uppermost file. "Oh, and Mike said for me to tell you that the new hood is a no-go."

"Really? Huh. I'll come look. And don't go joy-walking around the school, either. Straight there, straight back, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah." The girl breezed out the door with a negligent wave of one hand.

Evelyn looked toward the teacher, who was massaging his temples. "Cute kid," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed wryly. He stood. "Well, how would you like to meet our project?"

"'Meet' it?"

"Yeah. His name's Franken-vette." He grinned. "C'mon. You'll see."

* * *

_Franken-vette_ was as aptly named a car as any Evelyn had ever come across. Doors, trunk, side-panels, everything was of mis-matched colors. The seats were of different colors and material. The hood and dashboard were missing, exposing the internals of the partially-complete engine, and one of the tires was off, the car held off the ground by a jack. 

A trio of students stood off to one side, holding a large slab of metal up on its side and talking amongst themselves. They looked up at their teacher's and Evelyn's approach.

"Mr. Stephens, this isn't going to work," said the oldest-looking of the three, a solemn young man with a shaggy mop of hair that continually fell into his eyes. "We've tried everything, but these dents aren't coming out."

The teacher explained to a confused Evelyn. "We check all the junkyards for parts that might work with Franken-vette and see if they'll donate them. Some of the parts need a little work, but we're really close to finishing up. A few more engine parts and some cosmetic pieces, and we can take him for a test drive." He turned back to the group. "Well, Mike, let's have a look."

Evelyn hung back as Mr. Stephens joined the trio in turning the metal various ways, chattering away in what sounded like a different language. She rubbed at her ear, trying to soothe the annoying buzzing, ringing noise that had grown steadily louder as she stood in the noisy classroom.

"What about hammering it out?"

"Nothing. Janice even borrowed a sledge from the construction class, and it didn't make a scratch."

"I'll be." The teacher rubbed at the back of his neck. "Well... Damn. Set it to one side for now. Shame, too. It's in good condition, except for those dents."

"Yes, sir."

The students joined forces and lifted the sizeable piece of metal off the ground, and Evelyn saw that it was a hood painted a glossy black, perfectly sleek except at one corner where four dents, each as wide as her fist, lay side by side, wrinkling the metal in a way she had never seen before. She took a few steps nearer out of curiosity. The ringing in her ears grew.

Her eyes caught on a flash of purple, and light shone off of a strange symbol at the hood's center, a shape vaguely like a combination of an upside-down triangle and a chevron, creating a stylized face glaring out at the world, looming in her vision.

The hair along her arms and neck prickled.

The voice made an incoherent noise of surprise. _'Primus in the Pit.'_

Something touched her shoulder, and she jumped. Mr. Stephens pulled away, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

She looked back at the hood. The students had leaned it up against the wall, and the 'face' stared at her from upside down. "Do... do you know what that symbol is?"

"The purple thing? Nah. The kids and I were wondering that, too. You seen it before?"

She rubbed at her ear again. The machinery was loud, echoing all around her. "I'm not sure."

"Probably a new gang. Looks pretty neat, doesn't it?"

Evelyn made a noncommittal noise, following the man as he led her around to other parts of the room, introducing her to various students, expounding on the uses of various pieces of machinery. Evelyn listened with half an ear. The symbol seemed to hover before her eyes.

The face did not look _'neat'. _It looked downright scary, like a venomous snake grinning at some poor, doomed mouse.

* * *

As she pushed open the door of the high school lobby, Evelyn shook her head and frowned. Her ears were ringing again, much louder than before. _It's amazing that whole class isn't deaf,_ she thought ungraciously, exiting into the muggy warmth of the afternoon. 

A black car was parked just outside, gleaming flawlessly in the bright sunshine, all sleek curves and lithe lines, and Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks and stared. A faint smudge of purple could be seen on its hood... or was it a trick of the light? An odd flutter grew in her stomach and morphed swiftly into outright churning, and she could feel as the blood drained from her face, leaving her lightheaded.

The voice _growled._

The windows were tinted too darkly to see whether the vehicle was occupied. Just beyond it, in the first row of parking spaces, her car awaited.

Irrationally uneasy, Evelyn walked slowly and carefully around the back of the car, giving it an almost ridiculously wide berth, as though it were a chained dog, snapping and snarling. The ringing in her ears grew as she passed by and then faded when she scurried the last meters to her car, fumbling with her keys to open the door.

Behind her, an engine purred to life.

Her keys fell to the ground, and her breath caught in her throat.

There was the subtle creak and click of shifting gears. The purr grew to a rumble and moved away. Tires rasped on rough pavement. Evelyn stared down at her keys and listened.

Around the edge of the parking lot. To the exit. Pause. The engine thrummed, grew to a roar that set the air vibrating, and drew away down the road, accelerating fast and fading slowly into the distance.

Her eyes slid closed, and she sagged against the hot metal of her car's roof and side. _I'm so messed up,_ she thought bleakly. _God damn it, I really am insane._

For once, the voice was silent.

* * *

**End Chapter Two**


	4. Alice

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild language and violence. Some possible mature themes. Other warnings will be posted on a chapter-to-chapter basis.

**Author Notes: **Yes, it's a dreaded OC, and I can't really bring myself to care. This is my 'for fun' story, my playtime in the Transformers universe. No guarantees on regular updates. I can say that I have quite a long plot ahead, and I'll try to make it as interesting as possible.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Three**

* * *

_**Morpheus:** I imagine that right now, you're feeling a bit like Alice. Hmm? Tumbling down the rabbit hole?  
**Neo: **You could say that.  
**Morpheus: **I see it in your eyes. You have the look of a man who accepts what he sees because he is expecting to wake up. Ironically, that's not far from the truth._  
**-The Matrix**

* * *

'_You have to be careful.'_

Evelyn typed a few more figures into the little pocket-sized calculator, scribbling the total into her account book. She rifled through a stack of old bank statements, mouth pursed in a frown.

'_I know you don't want to listen, but this is serious. You— _We _are in danger.'_

She pulled out another statement and compared the numbers to those in her account book. Sighing, she erased one of the rows and reached for the calculator again.

'_Those guys are bad news. I don't remember a lot, I know, but I remember _them. _You have to listen to me!'_

Evelyn paused in her accounting. _I knew it._

'_What?'_

_This is the part where you start telling me to do weird things, like bite myself or jump out of windows or sacrifice baby kittens to the Old Ones, am I right?_

'_... sacrifice _what_ to the _who?'

_You know, maybe I'm not crazy. _Evelyn placed the pencil's eraser between her teeth, nibbling thoughtfully. _Maybe you're my muse, one of those weird voices like authors have. I should write a book. I don't think anyone's written about possessed cars before._

She got the very distinct impression that, had the voice had eyes, it would have rolled them. _'I'm just going to say "I told you so" now to save hassle later. Is that alright with you?'_

_Very thoughtful._

She was midway through re-tallying the balance column when the lights flickered to black and the hum of happily-running appliances stuttered and faded to silence.

"Damn it."

'_I wasn't planning on using it so soon,'_ said the voice helpfully,_ 'but you can insert that _"I told you so" _right here, if you like.'_

* * *

The news had been getting steadily more depressing with each passing day. Various members of the community condemned the local power companies for failing to solve the problem of the repeat blackouts. Area hospitals were buying extra backup generators to deal with the sporadic electricity supply, and there were reports of clean-up efforts after a gas-line explosion along a road near the warehousing district. 

'_You humans are some of the densest creatures I have ever come across,'_ griped the voice acidly._ 'No wonder you can't come up with faster-than-light travel.'_

Evelyn rolled her eyes. _We invented chocolate. We win. _

'_A sudden rash of blackouts and explosions spreads across your city, and you don't think that's just a _little_ weird?'_

_I'm watching TV –against my will, I might add— with a figment of my imagination that thinks it's the spirit of the car that nearly made me into road-kill. How exactly should I define 'weird'?_

'_... your doubts about your mental state aside, my point is still valid'_

_Your arrogance is astounding. Listening to you yammer twenty-four/seven is almost enough for me to give the pills another go._

'_Like you haven't threatened that before.' _The voice snorted. _'Please. They didn't do anything except make you loopy. And nauseous. And by extension, made _me_ loopy and nauseous... something I had never had to deal with before this mess, thank you so much.'_

_You'd be quiet, though. _She rubbed at her eyes and glanced at the VCR clock: 11:48pm. _Right. That's it._ She retrieved the remote from the side table. _Bedtime._

The screen showed a female reporter standing somewhere in the industrial district of Mason City, the battered street behind her littered with metal parts and fragments of glass, policemen scurrying back and forth in the background. _"—scene discovered this morning near the Beaumont Synthetics manufacturing plant—"_

The camera began to pan around the scene, and Evelyn hit the power button. The screen winked to black.

'_Turn that back on!'_ thundered the voice. Evelyn gasped, pain lancing between her temples, and the remote dropped to the floor as her hands rose to her head and she gaped dumbly at dirty beige carpet.

"... what...?"

'_Now!'_

Pins-and-needles spread from her head and down her neck, extending throughout her arm, and her arm moved, retrieving the remote and turning the TV back on. The same pins and needles burned within her neck, and she found herself staring at the television screen stupidly.

A moment passed. The voice made a thoughtful noise. _'... and then there were three,' _it murmured.

On the screen was the image of a black sports car, literally torn to shreds. Silver innards had been twisted beyond recognition and thrown the length and breadth of the street, and entire panels were missing. Puddles of fluid pooled around its base, mingled with fire-retardant foam. The tires were in ribbons, and one was gone completely. What pieces still remained attached to the vehicle were bent, broken, and otherwise mutilated beyond repair. The hood had been literally ripped in half and bore the same strange 'wrinkle' marks that Evelyn had noticed on the hood in the high school automotives class nearly a week past.

Half of the familiar purple sigil stood out clearly on the twisted piece of metal.

'_Primus,'_ said the voice admiringly. _'Somebody's _very _unhappy.'_

The pins-and-needles receded, and Evelyn sat slumped on the couch, breathing heavily. She blinked dumbly, looking down at her arm. She moved it, turning it this way and that, then covered her eyes and shuddered.

'_Hey...'_ Tentative. Curious. Concerned.

Evelyn shook her head violently and stood, throwing the remote to the floor. She left the TV on and strode toward the bathroom.

'_Hey. Hey, now. You okay?'_

The medicine cabinet squealed in protest as she wrenched the door open. Bottles of aspirin and allergy medicine and antacids and vitamins and herbal supplements stood before her in neat little rows, and many plummeted with loud clatters and rattles into the sink and onto the floor as she pushed them aside, reaching for a nondescript little prescription bottle, bright orange and topped with white, hiding in the back. Her hands shook as she drew it out.

The dosage prescribed was one pill every six hours. She took two.

'_Hey!' _Alarmed now. _'Calm down. I'm sorry, alright?'_

She gripped the counter to keep upright. Her stomach roiled, her heart fluttering like a bird attempting escape. Her throat constricted, breath hitching in her chest, and she blinked against the burn in her eyes. Before her, the woman in the mirror was pale as a proverbial ghost.

'_I didn't know...'_

She left the mess in the bathroom, and she did not bother with undressing as she climbed into her bed. The covers were cold, and she pulled the comforter up to her chin, then over her head completely as she curled on her side.

'_I didn't know I could do... that...'_

Her stomach burned as the medicine began to break apart, and everything blurred around the edges, fading into soothing, fuzzy shapelessness. Shudders faded into shivering, followed shortly by stillness. Something burning-hot slid down her face and onto her pillow, but it was harder and harder to care.

'_... I'm sorry...'_

* * *

**To:** Evelyn M. Hughes -Thursday, 10 September 2009 15:41:55-0400 

**Subject:** Told you so!

**From:** Miguel Alvarez

Professora,

See, I told you there were pictures of them!

M

PS- Do you know when you're coming back, yet? Richardson keeps mixing up 'phonemes' and 'phonics' and it's driving us _nuts._ o.O;

**Attachments-**

**Files:**

mafiacars.zip (1.9MB)

Scan and Save to Computer

* * *

The message was three days old. 

Evelyn gazed at the file link detachedly. The cursor hovered over it, the little white hand appearing to beckon. Closing her eyes, she tapped the touch-pad.

Drawing in a deep breath, she finished the download and unzipped the file. Eight photos appeared in the new file, and she opened them in a slide-show viewer and scrolled through.

Each photo was a different size and quality from the others, obviously all taken from different sources. A few had date-stamps in the corner and were taken from a height: traffic-light cameras, perhaps. The rest were from street-level, all but one with a separate subject in the foreground and the car just happening to appear elsewhere in the frame.

All were black and in perfect condition. All with darkly tinted windows. All with the purple symbol emblazoned on the hood.

She studied the pictures. She had no particular interest in cars, but even she could tell that there were only five models to be seen in the eight pictures... and one matched the car that she had seen at the high school.

_Though, if the hood at the school and the wreck on TV are anything to go by, there's only... three... now... _

The voice's words came back to her: '... and then there were three.'

She leaned back in her chair and closed her laptop.

_I'm falling down the rabbit hole,_ she thought and then giggled quietly to herself.

* * *

"Chickadee, you are bluer than a beaver with braces on. What's wrong?" 

A glass of clear amber liquid appeared beneath her nose, and Evelyn shied back. She blinked at the woman sitting across from her. "What?"

Her companion grinned. "Anyone who looks as unhappy as you do obviously needs a stiff drink."

Evelyn considered the drink before pushing it away. "I can't, Jamie. Doctor's orders."

"Doctor?" The other woman looked doubtful. "What doctor?"

"I'm on medication. Nothing important," she reassured. "Leftovers from the crash."

"Right," drawled the other. "Whatever you say, Chickadee."

The bar was almost empty. A few people were scattered here and there, some seated at the bar, a group over in the corner playing pool. The jukebox was currently playing some slow, mellow country song that seemed to have set the mood for the entire establishment. Evelyn and her friend were seated near the large window at the front of the room, looking out on the red-orange tinted streets of downtown Mason, shadows lengthening as the evening sun slowly descended.

"Thanks for the night out, Jamie," said Evelyn at last. "I have been kind of down lately, haven't I?"

"Any further down and you'd be in China. What's eatin' at you? You were fine until a couple weeks ago."

_What's 'eating' me? I feel like I've fallen into _The Matrix, _that's what._ "I'm just tired of having nothing to do. There's only so much vacation someone can take, you know?"

The other woman arched an eyebrow. "Shoot, you can come teach my classes any time, and I'll take a week or two off."

"You have no idea how tempting that sounds." She looked down at the drink again. _Six hours is almost up. I could catch a ride with Jamie..._ Her stomach flip-flopped, and she turned away from the temptation of alcohol with a bitter frown. _Right. Nevermind._

"Somethin' wrong with your ears, Chickadee?"

Evelyn froze and realized that she had been rubbing her ears again. She mumbled something to the effect of 'it's nothing' and avoided her friend's concerned gaze.

She looked out the window. A black car sat parked outside, no more than two meters from where she sat, and the purple face grinned hungrily at her from its place upon the hood.

"—vy? _Evy?_ What's gotten into you?"

"How long's that car been out there?"

"Wha—? How in blue blazes am I supposed to know? What in criminy's the matter?"

"N-nothing." She reached for the drink with new resolve.

* * *

The black car had disappeared by the time the two women exited the bar. 

"Where'd you park?" queried Jamie, looking up and down the nighttime street with all the wariness of a veteran city-dweller. "I'm just a li'l ways down the road, if you want a ride."

Evelyn smiled. "That's all right, Jamie. It was just one drink."

"I _noticed,_ Miss 'Doctor's Orders.'" The woman rolled her eyes heavenward. "I cannot tell you what good it does my nerves to know that you passed up medical school for a field where people's lives do _not_ hang in the balance."

"I aim to please."

"Hm." Jamie's car keys clanged and jangled as she pulled the sizeable bundle of keys, key chains, mini-cards and key-clips out of her purse. Evelyn eyed the monstrosity.

"Have you weeded that thing out at all since middle school?"

"Chickadee, you never mess with what works."

"A battering-ram and a door key will both open my apartment, but I know which one is easier on my back."

"Funny girl." Jamie embraced the shorter woman and gave her a quick peck on one cheek. "Are you sure you don't want a ride?"

"I'm in the lot just a block behind here. I'll be fine."

* * *

_I should have walked with Jamie._

Flickering streetlights cast dancing orange and black patches over the narrow side-street, catching on bits of broken bottles and old metal refuse. Chill winds twined through the alleyways, rattling the plastic of garbage-bags and catching at old pieces of paper, sending them skittering across the cement. The short section of road was deserted, not even a stray cat to be seen slinking between the shadows.

Evelyn tugged her coat tightly around herself and leaned into the wind, stumbling as it tangled her skirt around her legs. Bits of hair whipped into her eyes, stinging harshly, and she blew at them in an ineffective attempt to rearrange them, unwilling to remove her hands from the warmth of her pockets.

She rounded the final corner to the little out-of-the-way parking lot and paused apprehensively upon seeing that all but the furthest one of the pole-mounted lights were not working.

Her car was there, though, in plain sight and with no other vehicles anywhere near. She pulled her keys from her pocket and strode forward, hair prickling at the back of her neck.

Her ears were ringing again.

The rumbling purr of a powerful engine came from the deep shadows at the far end of the lot, and faint smears of orange caught on glistening black paint as a car pulled smoothly out of hiding, crept across the lot, and insinuated itself neatly between Evelyn and her car. Even the deep shadows could not hide the familiar sigil upon the hood.

Evelyn swallowed convulsively.

_... I guess this answers where it disappeared to..._

White-knuckled hands shaking, her keys jingling like a set of hand-bells, she stepped toward the rear of the vehicle to go around. The car reversed smoothly and reinstated itself in her path.

Her stomach slithered a few inches lower in her abdomen whilst her heart crawled higher in her throat. The ringing was louder than ever, and Evelyn took a step backwards without thinking about it, followed by another, clenching her purse against herself as though it were a shield.

The car turned and followed, smooth and sleek, engine's rumble morphing into the growl of a predator on the hunt. The face leered at her.

_This isn't right. It's just some kids, some gang. There's no such thing as possessed cars..._

She stumbled backwards, away from the jet-black vehicle, tripping and falling heavily on her backside with a loud _oof!_ as her feet caught on an uneven piece of concrete. The car inched nearer, bumper steadily drawing closer until she could feel the warmth of the engine even as she scrambled away in a graceless crab-walk, hands scraping upon the pavement.

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Please be a dream. Please, please, oh, please be a dream. Let me be in the hospital, in the loony-bin, unconscious in an alley somewhere, anywhere but here..._

And then... the car began to _twist. _

Evelyn stared, uncomprehending, as bits and pieces folded and rearranged, panels flipping out, parts tucking under, metal groaning and joints whirring and over it all rose this hair-raising electronic _screech._

The car had eyes, red eyes glaring at her, and it was no longer a car but instead a hunched, twisted thing looming over her that had no shape in the dim ambient light of the city night.

And then it spoke, voice booming and grating like stone grinding on stone, loud enough to make her ears ring even more than they had before.

"**Where is the key?"**

_Somebody... _

_... help me..._

The voice stirred in the back of her mind for the first time in days upon days, and it sounded _pissed._

'_This,'_ it said, _'is _exactly _what I was talking about when I said "I told you so."'_

* * *

**End Chapter Three**

* * *

_**Phonemes – **(to put it extremely simply) the idividual sounds that make up a language_

_**Phonics –** a method of teaching younger children how to speak and read a language ("Hooked on Phonics")_


	5. Bad

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Mild language and violence. Some possible mature themes. Other warnings will be posted on a chapter-to-chapter basis.

**Author Notes: **Hmm, a little shorter than usual, but I'm finally getting to the robots. I'm trying to keep Evelyn's 'culture shock' as real as possible. Opinions?

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Four**

* * *

_"Luck is my middle name," said Rincewind, indistinctly. "Mind you, my first name is Bad."_**  
– Interesting Times, Terry Pratchet**

* * *

'This planet sure is... colorful.' 

_Evelyn pulled the thin, hospital-issue robe tighter around herself, tucking her slipper-clad feet beneath the metal bench and focusing on the warmth of the sunshine that battled against the ambient chill of the early-morning air. The hospital garden, set at the center of the hospital itself, surrounded by walls of glass, steel, and cement, was at the peak of bloom, pansies and daffodils as splashes of color lining the few simple pathways, shaded by the white-dappled branches of flowering dogwoods. A few yards down the path, an orderly stood attentively beside the metal and glass door that led back into the sterile prison that Evelyn had endured for so long already.  
_

Never seen flowers before?_ she wondered. It was probably unhealthy to acknowledge the voice in any way, but it was hard to care when there was no one else to speak with, and those she could speak with only communicated via medical jargon. Also, if she humored it, the voice could be quite an interesting conversation companion.  
_

'No. We don't have organics on my planet.' _  
_

So, you're an _alien _car. _Evelyn grinned a little to herself, turning to hide the expression from her watchdog.  
_

'Mech,' _said the voice, _'I'm a mech, and we have hover-vehicles, not "cars."'_  
_

Hoity-toity, _she replied. Her ribs protested as she bent down, plucking a dew-damp pansy blossom and twirling it between her fingers. Little droplets of water fell upon her hand and wrist, pin-pricks of cold that sent goose bumps down her spine. _Mech? So... a robot, you mean? What were you, a were-car? Alien robot by day, car by night?

'Not... exactly. We change when we want to.'

A transforming car. _She fingered the gold and purple petals. _A transforming car that is also an alien robot from a galaxy far, far away... _She giggled quietly, turning it into a soft cough when the orderly looked her way.  
_

'What's so funny?'_  
_

_ The orderly was approaching, the familiar all-business smile firmly in place. Recess was over. Evelyn cradled the flower in her palm, still grinning to herself.  
_

No wonder you didn't know what a stoplight is.

* * *

Her arm and ribs hurt, and she had a headache. 

"Where the slag is that glitch? It was a simple grab'n'go."

"Chill, Torque. This is Blockade we're talkin' 'bout. He prob'ly got lost."

"With that berserker 'bot running loose? Even the Blockhead knows better than to be joyriding."

She squinted her eyes open cautiously and found herself staring at gray, an entire plain of fuzzy, bumpy gray, and upon shifting slightly, she decided that it was concrete and that her cheek had been pressed against it for quite some time. It was hard to swallow, and she shivered convulsively; she was very, very cold.

_''Bout slaggin' time you woke up.'_

Her feet were freezing, too, which was odd. _I... shoes...?_

"We should have taken the stupid squishy to the ship straight off. None of this skulking around scrap."

"An' put it where?"

"The brig, Offbeat. Where else do you put a prisoner?"

"The bars are way too far apart, T-man. If it's big enough for a turbo-rat to get through, it's more'n big enough for a scrawny li'l organic to use."

_'Haven't you rebooted yet?'_

_No shoes... I was wearing shoes... with..._

_"What's wrong, Chickadee?"_

She blinked again, some of the blurriness clearing. Her ears were filled with the sounds of a thousand bells ringing, ringing, ringing, enough to make her dizzy if she were not already suffering vertigo._ Jamie._

Something was around her neck. Something very heavy and very cold was wrapped tightly around her neck, and it pressed against her throat alarmingly whenever she swallowed. She moved one hand, cold fingertips trailing along rough concrete, and touched the object: rounded metal, a tube about two-inches in diameter.

_'Pipe, slow one. It's a piece of pipe. Did they knock your processor loose?'_

_Pipe? Pipe... bar? Bar with Jamie. Chickadee. Stupid. Not a bird. Drinks... no drinks. Medication. Pills for the voice... voice?  
_

_ Voice?  
_

A soft noise, akin to a sigh._ 'Yeah. I'm here.'  
_

_ Here...? _

She focused further across the gray. The plain of concrete stretched for yards upon yards, meeting a shadowed wall. Her gaze traveled up to a row of windows, cracked and dingy, lit from the other side with shining white light. Dust motes danced in the air, gold and silver particles following the light's path. Overhead was cast in complete shadow, chains and pulleys and other miscellany dangling from beyond reach of her sight.

_Big, _was her first thought. Then came, _garage?_

_'Warehouse,' _corrected the voice. _'Big slaggin' warehouse.' _Another sigh. _'Primus, I think they broke her.'_

"He's going to use his comm. I know it."

"Even Blocks ain't that much of an idiot."

"Would you put your energon on that?"

Laughter, rich and deep and echoing in the expansive room. "I ain't that big an idiot, either, T."

She shifted, free hand splayed upon the cold floor as she tried to move her gloved arm from beneath the burden of her body, scar-tissue burning with sudden pain. A tiny gasp puffed past her lips, and she jerked away from the pain, only succeeding in rolling onto her back. Something clattered noisily with the movement, and she found herself lying with something narrow and bumpy pressing up against her shoulder.

_'Way to go, scrap-for-brains.'_

She looked over dazedly. A length of industrial chain lay upon the cement, running from her to an iron support beam set in the floor. The chain had been tied and twisted around itself in a knot, and beyond it stood what appeared to be... feet?

_Big feet, _she thought dumbly.

Her gaze traveled up the two pairs of legs that were attached to the feet. One pair was black and red, the other black and white. Legs led to waists, and waists led to chests. Each chest was shaped very strangely, broad and boxy, and they seemed to be very far up. There was a fuzzy purple triangle at the center of each chest.

Prickles of alarm spread down her neck and throughout her body, and the two purple smudges resolved themselves into purple faces, glaring down at her...

_Somethin' wrong with your ears, Chickadee?  
_

_ How long's that car been out there?  
_

_ What's gotten into you?  
_

_ ... just a block... I'll be fine.  
_

_**Where is the key?**  
_

The two giants gazed down at her. One had no mouth or nose, its eyes covered with a glowing red visor. The other smiled an ugly smile, scarlet eyes seeming to glow brighter.

"It's online."

Evelyn was suddenly feeling very much awake.

* * *

The concrete beneath her vibrated as the red and black giant, the one with a face and eyes, took two large steps toward her. Evelyn scrambled away, chain clattering and ringing on the concrete, her arm burning, and her neck was wrenched painfully as the cold metal around her throat jerked, the chain running in a taut line from somewhere behind her neck to the support pillar. Her stomach roiled rebelliously, and she stared in disbelief. 

_A leash!_

The giant was laughing at her, harsh laughter that hurt her ears and made her cringe closer to the floor, staring up, up, up at the behemoth.

_I'm in the loony bin. I'm unconscious in a damn psych-ward somewhere, and this is me tripping on whatever pills they've forced down my throat. I'm up in the sky with Lucy and her freaking diamonds, and some nurse is coming in daily to change my diaper and make sure I don't get bedsores like Uncle Randal—  
_

_ 'Would you shut up? This isn't some slaggin' dream!'  
_

The giant crossed its boxy arms over its broad chest and tilted its head, gazing down at her. "How do you like your accommodations? Your race has interesting ideas on keeping lesser species in their place, wouldn't you say?"

The giant dropped to one knee, things within it hissing and humming and creaking with the movement. A giant black hand reached out, looming in her vision, and she pressed against the floor, shuddering and clenching her eyes closed. A strange, high-pitched mewling echoed in the empty building; her throat tingled with pins and needles, and the sound cut off.

_'Hush,' _said the voice, sounding calm and reassuring and tense all at once. _'Calm down. If they wanted you dead, they could have done it ten times over by now.'_

Something heavy and hard and startlingly warm wrapped around her torso and pulled her upright, chain jangling and legs dangling and bare feet scraping against the concrete. Her shoulders and arms were pushed upward, like a child picked up beneath the arms by an adult. Vibrations traveled through the metal and into her body as the giant laughed again.

"Offbeat, I don't think it likes me."

The whirring, humming, grinding noises grew in volume, and her feet lost all contact with the floor, air rushing past her face and fanning her hair as her stomach dropped out of her body. The chain rang with the movement, its weight pulling upon her neck.

_Gonnadropmegonnadropmepleasenononogonnadropme..._

Something blunt and metallic prodded at her cheek, and her eyes opened of their own volition. She found herself staring down a finger that was easily longer and thicker than her own arm. Beyond the finger, the giant's face leered at her from a disturbingly short distance away.

"C'mon, squishy. Say hello."

"Torque, put the poor thing down. Yer gonna' give it pump failure."

"You're no fun."

The ringing in her ears had become a high-pitched shriek running just below the normal level of hearing, but the fist around her body tightened, stealing her breath and sending her heart high in her throat, throbbing with panic. Dark metal lips parted, revealing teeth-like pieces of white metal within the giant's mouth.

"Torque!" A second hand gripped the giant's wrist with a loud clang of metal on metal, and the black and red giant sneered at the black and white.

"Back off, 'Beat."

"You kill it, and it's yer aft in the smeltin' vats."

"We don't need it. All we need is the key. Get the key, and we get out of here. Compute?"

"Ya don't even know if it _has _the key. It's just a little critter with a weird energy reading. Put it _down."_

Evelyn stared at the two giants. The black and red robot's mouth twisted in a sneer, then its glowing eyes narrowed and it smirked. "Fine," it said, and let go.

A shriek of terror ripped from Evelyn's throat at the sudden feeling of weightlessness, but she had scarcely begun to fall when she was caught again, in a different set of hands.

"Predictable, T."

She was not gripped around the middle this time. Instead, the black and white giant held her curled form in the palm of its hand, its second hand cupped around her as though shielding her.

The black and red giant made a sound of disgust. "Fine. It's just going to die on the way back, anyway."

Evelyn's shudders redoubled, breath coming in unsteady little hiccups. She pressed her arms against her rebelling stomach, bending until her forehead nearly touched her knees. The chain slid forward over her shoulder and clanged loudly against the giant's hand.

_'Breathe. Just breathe. It'll be alright.'  
_

_ It's not alright. Nothing's right, not right, none of this, not right at all...  
_

"Well, I can take care o' that, at least." Air stirred, and there was a sense of something large moving over her, and then pressure at the back of her neck. "Hold still."

A choked squeak was all that escaped her, and the metal around her neck pulled and tightened before falling off completely, banging against the metal palm before the weight of the chain dragged it over the side and it clattered loudly upon the floor so very far below.

One hand rose and rubbed at her throat gently. The skin was tender and bruised. She swallowed against the discomfort and felt as though she were about to be sick.

"If it makes a run for it, you get to chase it down."

"Whatever you say, T." Something touched Evelyn between her shoulders and brushed all the way down her back, tracing along her spine. Then it lifted, and did it again. And again. "T, ya big glitch, ya scared it straight outta' its processor."

"You always were soft, Offbeat. Planning on adopting it? Making it a cage next to your berth?"

"Maybe a little nest," joked the giant. "Can organics take energon? I could feed it scraps."

_Not a pet,_ thought Evelyn, a seed of indignity sprouting far, far below the layers upon layers of fear and panic clouding her mind.

_'You won't be.'_

The stroking stopped and a light weight covered her back, as though the robot had covered her with its hand. She closed her eyes.

"T, ya ain't gonna' like this."

"Did the squishy die?"

"No. Blockade just commed. He's less 'n a quarter-mile out."

"... _Slaggit._ That _slagging glitch."_ A loud series of clicks and clanks echoed in the building, the sound of prepping a rifle magnified many times, and Evelyn dared not look. "He knows what 'running silent' means. If that psycho 'bot doesn't kill him, _I will."_

The black and white giant patted Evelyn's back lightly like an old woman soothing a tense cat. "Keep yer head, T. It's two-to-one, now. Three-to-one if Block makes it in one piece."

"You saw what that thing did to Dynamo. You really want to see it in action?"

"Not in particular."

Silence fell in the building, broken only by the occasional humming, whining, grinding movement from one of the giants. Evelyn opened her eyes and stared at the thick black fingers curled around her. Seconds ticked by, turning to minutes, and not even the voice spoke.

The grumbling rumble of an engine approached, accompanied by the sound of crunching gravel. A horn beeped, and a voice called from outside. "Hey, guys! I got the stuff from town. You wouldn't believe the traff_erk."_

Silence. The two giants seemed frozen, and Evelyn lay frozen with them.

Steps. Heavy, slow steps, coming closer, first crunching upon gravel, then thudding upon grass or dirt, echoing Evelyn's heartbeat.

From outside, the distinct sound of a gun cocking.

The white and black giant's hands tightened around Evelyn. The red and black giant had time only to hiss a venomous _"slag"_ before the world exploded in light and burning heat.

* * *

**End Chapter Four**


	6. Shock

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

**

* * *

Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **none that I can think of. Cybertronian curse-words?

**Author Notes: **I'm not too happy with this chapter. It didn't seem to flow as smoothly as the others, but the next one should be easier. I might rewrite this (much) further down the line, but we'll see. Plus, certain Lamborghinis whose names shall remain anonymous are pretty darn hard to write. **  
**

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Five**

* * *

_"Who said anything about panicking?" snapped Arthur. "This is still just the culture shock. You wait till I've settled down into the situation and found my bearings. Then I'll start panicking."_  
– **_Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams_**

* * *

The voice was cursing, loudly and at length, the only sound Evelyn could hear beyond the ringing in her ears and a dull, rushing roar overlaid by the panicked drumming of her heart. She lay on her belly, legs hanging off into space, her arms wrapped around one of the giant's black fingers, grip tightening with each new jerk and swing of the robot's hand. Smoke and grit filled the air, the scents of ozone and soot clogging her throat, and somewhere high and to one side she could see the giant's other hand gripping a huge handgun that shot out blazes of red light.

The giant's hand jerked again, the world whirling in a wild kaleidoscope of flame-tinted smoke and mottled shadow and flashes of firecracker-bright light, and Evelyn felt herself sliding further off of the metal palm. She scrabbled for purchase on the slick metal, but the hand shifted and tilted, and she found herself pinned between the palm and the giant's chest, pressed against the purple symbol.

Sound came trickling back as the world lurched and shuddered again, crashing-clanging sounds ringing over the roar of flames and gunfire as the giant took several steps back and to one side.

A smoke-wreathed figure loomed a fair distance away, hefting something that looked like a cross between a rifle and a rocket launcher. _"How the slag did he get here so fast?"_ bellowed the red and black giant, words punctuated with a loud crackling _phoom!_ as a bolt of white light shot from the weapon. Beyond Evelyn's range of vision, something exploded, sending bits and pieces of metal and cement raining down all around, impacting on the black and white giant with little _pings_ and pelting Evelyn's exposed skin.

Something groaned and shrieked overhead, and Evelyn's world spun and dipped as the giant pivoted, hunching over. An ear-splitting, thunderous crash of metal upon metal shredded the air, an almighty jolt rocking the giant's frame, rattling Evelyn's entire body. The giant lurched, falling to one knee, and a twisted, smoking I-beam slid off its shoulder. The ground loomed in her vision, a rubble-strewn plain of sooty gray no more than ten feet below her.

The giant made a sound akin to a growl. "Well, if this ain't the most fun since Primus made high-grade," it muttered.

Evelyn tightened her hold around the giant's index finger as its grip upon her loosened. _I think I'm going to be sick._

_'No time for that,'_ said the voice, and her vision blurred and then cleared as a wave of prickly pins and needles washed over her entire body, maddeningly uncomfortable, but her body twisted and writhed without her consent, and she slipped out of the giant's slack grasp, falling to the floor below.

_What—_

Her thigh and arm screamed obscenities at her as she dropped and rolled upon impact, but she was abruptly up and running when the pain should have left her a moaning heap on the ground. Above her, the giant shouted something incomprehensible, and her body darted to one side as a huge black hand swept past her as though to scoop her up.

—_the hell?_

One of the warehouse walls was nearly obliterated, leaving a hole large enough for three tractors to drive through side-by-side. Sunlight shone through and highlighted the smoke with a brilliant white aura on one side, contrasting with the red and black glow of fire on the other. Evelyn's legs launched her toward the light, dodging around broken cement and mounds of flaming, shattered wood and other bits of rubble. The soles of her feet sang with pain as she stepped on splinters and jagged pieces of concrete, and her steps faltered momentarily as the need to stop overrode all else.

'_Would you stop fighting?'_ snapped the voice. Her legs regained their stride. _'This isn't exactly easy. How do you balance on these tiny things?'_

Somewhere behind her and to one side, the red and black giant's voice came: "'Beat, what're you—You let it _escape?"_

"Shut up, Torque!"

_You..._ Breath rushed in and out of her lungs in a forced, measured rhythm. Her eyes traveled without her permission, focusing on obstacles, on the unnatural flashes of light passing overhead, as though she were watching a point-of-view shot in a movie. _What are you doing?_

'_Running?' _Behind her, she could hear the thunder of the giant's steps as it followed her, one step to her every three.

_But... but... this is _my_ body! _Evelyn argued stupidly. The itching, tingling sensation covered her from head to foot, steady and infuriating.

'_Well, it wasn't like you were doing anything with it!'_ She dropped to all fours, and something big rushed past overhead. The giant spat what sounded like a curse, but she was up and running again.

_Not that way! _she 'yelled' as she approached the brilliant light of the fissure in the wall. White lightning from the red and black giant and crackling green bolts of flame from somewhere outside passed through the opening in swarms, vibrating the air in a broken chorus of whines, hisses, and explosions.

'_Relax.' _She vaulted a fallen piece of sheet metal, presumably from the distant ceiling. Her thigh was a mass of burning nerves, pain extending now throughout the entire leg and up into her side. Her feet were on fire, throbbing in time with her heart. _'They're aiming way too high to hit us.'_

_Don't you know what _'collateral damage'_ is?_

The opening loomed, thickly shrouded by silver-streaked smoke.

"Catch it! 'Beat, you glitch, _catch it!"_

Light filled her vision, a portal to a different world, but the light was abruptly blocked, and her body lurched to a halt at the feet of a third giant and watching with wide eyes as one of those feet made its inexorable descent toward her.

"_Slaggit!"_ The yell came from her throat, raspy and hoarse and sounding not like her at all.

A rush of black and white slammed into the third giant, throwing it backwards several heavy, faltering steps away from the building. Smoke veiled the two figures. The third giant stood a head over its black and white opponent, and in a move that Evelyn would have thought physically impossible, the larger giant picked up its adversary and flung it to one side. The ground shook with the giant's landing, but Evelyn was abruptly moving again.

Her body threw itself forward, past the last of the wreckage and over the jagged lip of splintered wood that had once been the wall. Her arms impacted the gravel-strewn grass outside, and her body twisted, rolling, sky and ground and smoke all whirling in a sickening kaleidoscope, rocks jabbing her sides, her legs, her buttocks, until she jerked to a halt, panting against the dirt and shriveled grass and breathing the cooler, smoke-tinted air of outside.

_Ow..._

Her entire body throbbed, myriads of bruises and cuts vying with the furious muscles of her thigh and the burning skin of her arm and the pain of her abused feet. Over it all, the pins and needles remained, but she rolled into a standing position and staggered a few unsteady steps forward. She nearly ran headlong into the hood of a glossy black sports car, but she was abruptly transfixed by the thick metal pole that speared through the car's hood, neatly puncturing the grinning purple sigil. Pink and blue liquids formed a spatter ring encircling the wound and puddled around the car's tires.

'_Blockade the Blockhead,'_ surmised the voice. _'Straight through the cortex.'_

Her hair, singed and lank, flopped around her face as her head swung to the left and right. Wild forest stood before her, the warehouse behind, and an ancient, cracked roadway far, far to her left, past a second, smaller warehouse. She pivoted completely, and her gaze caught on the third giant stalking after the sprawled form of the black and white giant. Sunlight glinted on yellow and black metal and a helm that bore two horn-like projections on either side. It growled, its voice deep and resonant, "Decepticon, I'm going to _rip you apart."_

The pins and needles evaporated as though they never were, dropping her to her knees, a puppet with its strings cut.

'_... Sunny...'_

Evelyn shook her head and took a moment to marvel that she could do so. She attempted to stand, but the tenderness in her leg and feet drove her back down with a pained gasp. Movement caught her eye, and she looked up to see the red and black giant exiting the warehouse. She backpedaled, scrabbling over the jagged gravel, but the giant did not look down, instead aiming its gun at the yellow giant.

A sort of explosion took place within her skull, sending stars across her vision, and she heard her voice screaming, _"SUNNY!"_

The _phoom!_ of the giant's gun split the air, followed by an even louder detonation and a scream more piercing and horrible than anything Evelyn had ever heard. Her vision cleared.

The yellow giant stood untouched... beside the crumpled form of the black and white giant that knelt, clutching a hole in its side that leaked pink liquid and spat sparks. The light within the red visor flared and flickered unsteadily.

The red and black giant froze. It stood and looked from its downed companion, the impaled car, and the deadly still form of the yellow giant that still held a gun of its own.

The red and black giant retreated one step.

And then another.

With a sneer and a spat curse, the giant turned and ran for the road, making a flying leap halfway there. Its body twisted and convulsed midair, and that familiar mechanical screech sounded, and a soot- and dirt-streaked car fishtailed onto the road and sped away.

A series of hums and groans and clatters sounded from the other direction, and Evelyn turned back just in time to see the black and white robot running unsteadily after its companion, staggering and almost falling. It stumbled to its knees and transformed, jerky and slowly, and soon a second black car, smoke trailing behind it and engine snarling and groaning unhealthily, followed in the first car's wake.

A strange sort of silence fell, a silence that was not really _silent_ at all. The warehouse moaned and creaked, wood splintering and metal warping, small fires still crackling merrily around the impressive hole in the building's side. Far in the distance, the familiar wail of police and firefighting vehicles echoed, growing closer.

And much nearer, a low mechanical hum overlaid the ringing in her ears, and Evelyn turned to look at the third giant. It stood unmoving, and her racing heart skipped a several beats in a row when she realized that the giant's pale, silver-blue eyes were fastened with singular attention upon her.

Her throat tingled.

"_Well, it sure as slag took you long enough."_

She clapped a dirt-encrusted hand over her mouth, eyes wide. The giant's intense gaze had morphed into something more along the lines of an intense scowl. It stepped toward her, ground trembling beneath its feet.

_What are you _doing? _Are you insane?_

'_He's my brother.'_

_Say_ what?

The tingling passed over her entire body, and the hand dropped away from her mouth. Pain shot through her legs as she stood. Her fists propped themselves on her hips, and her body took on a decidedly cocky stance, her head tilting further and further back to watch as the giant neared.

_Oh... holy... hell..._

Her head barely reached the bottom of the giant's knee, and she was lost in its shadow. It was even larger than the two black giants, but its body was streaked and scuffed, not glossy as theirs had been. Her mouth scrunched into a frown without her consent.

"_Primus, Sunny, what in the Pit happened to you?"_

The glare transformed into a snarl, and one of the large black hands swept down and swiped her off the ground, knocking the wind out of her and setting her head to spinning.

"How do you know that name?"

Her lungs drew in a long wheeze of breath, and her eyes locked with the pale gaze that was now mere meters away. Her lips twitched into a small grin.

"_Primus, bro, not so rough."_

The metal of the giant's face was as pliable as human skin, its forehead drawing down in a deepening scowl, its eyes narrowing, silver lips pulling back from white metal 'teeth.'

"What are you?"

"_Sunny—"_

"Don't call me that!" The fist tightened just the slightest bit. "I asked you a question, _organic._ What are you? How do you know that name?"

One of Evelyn's fists thumped against the black metal of the giant's thumb. Evelyn's thoughts hiccupped in sheer terror. _"It's _me,_ you self-absorbed aft-head! Me! Sidesw—"_

The fist _squeezed,_ forcing a cough from her lungs. The pale blue eyes loomed even closer, the silvery lips pulled back in a snarl. "Try again."

The wail of sirens was growing ever-louder. _"Look, you glitch, we don't have time! More humans are coming any second now. We have to—"_

Squeeze.

"—'Streaker, _don't _do_ that. Yeah, I know, there's been some bodywork done, but—"_

"Don't frag with me." Squeeze. An unhealthy sounding wheeze scraped its way out of her throat. _I'm going to die!_

The voice paused for a long moment. Her body panted, heart fluttering in her throat.

Then:

"_You used to be blue and white."_

The pressure eased so much and so quickly that Evelyn very nearly fell through the giant's grasp completely.

"_You moaned that blue washed out your optics, so you chose yellow for contrast. Yellow and white blended too easily, so you wanted yellow and black. You had the work done when Shoulderscrew was giving our specs to Prime, and he gave you an orn in the Hole to pay for it. I had to do both our workloads to cover for your sorry aft, too."_

The giant stared, eyes wide and bleached to near-white, the ugly, angry lines of its face flattened into an expression of dumbfounded shock.

"... Sides?" The fist loosened, and Evelyn was suddenly sitting on a black palm with a second hand hovering behind her as though she were in danger of tipping off. "I... I thought you were dead. I saw your body."

"_Hey, you know me."_ Her mouth stretched into a broad grin, arms spread. _"The Incredible, Indestructible Sideswipe. I'm harder to get rid of than rust rash."_

The pale eyes were changing, bleeding to a sky-blue. "What the slag happened to you?"

"_Uh... Later, maybe?"_ One of her hands gestured in the direction of the road. The sirens were even closer, enough so that the sounds of the vehicles engines were barely discernable. _"Time to roll, bro."_

There was something behind the glass that covered the giant's eyes, something that provided the glow from within and the coloring, and she could see it move and look past her at the road. The giant sneered. "Underdeveloped fleshbags," it said. "They couldn't scrap a turbo-rat."

Evelyn felt as though she should be upset at that remark. All she could scrounge up was a distant sort of indignation. _Charming,_ she commented tiredly. Suddenly, she did not much mind that her body had been, essentially, hijacked. It was easy to let someone else do the work.

"_Let's go, Sunny."_ Mentally, the voice chuckled. _'Sorry. I'd tell you that he isn't usually like this, but I'd be lying.'_

"First things first." The giant's free hand grabbed at the air, and there was suddenly a flat metallic _something_ in its grasp. A flick of the wrist, and the device went arcing through the air to land with a loud _clang_ atop the hood of the remaining black car.

"_A smelter-shell? Feeling a little vindictive, bro?"_

"A little." The giant reached out and grasped the pole impaling the car, wrenching it out with a shriek of tortured metal, sending a spray of blue and pink liquid through the air. A flick of the wrist, and the pole, easily thirty feet long and a foot in diameter, winked out of existence.

_Houdini,_ thought Evelyn inanely.

The yellow giant lowered her to the ground, and gravel bit into the tender soles of her feet as she stepped down. The towering figure took a step backwards and fell to its knees... only it never reached its knees because it did not have knees anymore. A yellow sports-car rocked on its suspension as its front tires fell the last foot to the ground. The driver-side door rose, and her tingling, aching body limped over and all but collapsed into the seat. The door closed with a hiss and a clunk.

A screen set into the dashboard flickered to life, showing an image of the giant's face. "You're tracking dirt in me, you realize."

"_That's all right. No one will know the difference."_

"Slagger."

Her mouth curved into a smile. _"Missed you, too, bro."_

The car _hmph_ed, the engine revving to life as it pulled down the gravel drive. A seatbelt moved of its own accord, wrapping over her shoulder and across her waist and latching with a quiet _click._ In front of her, the steering wheel twitched and rotated without a guiding hand.

The engine roared as the car pulled out onto the highway, but that roar was drowned in the thunderous explosion from behind. Startled, Evelyn jerked around to look, overcoming the voice's hold momentarily. An inferno enveloped where the black car had been sitting, smoke belching skyward to mingle with the thinning vapor rising from the nearly destroyed warehouse, bits and pieces of charred metal raining down all around.

"_Nice,"_ came that hoarse parody of her voice. _"And just in time."_

Blue and red lights glittered in the rearview mirror, pulling onto the gravel drive, and the car's engine revved and downshifted, sending the vehicle rocketing forward, leaving the police and fire-trucks far behind. Green, forested hills rolled by on either side, broken only by the occasional barn or secluded house, sections of barbed-wire fences skimming past intermittently. Evelyn recognized none of it.

"All right, slagger. It's later. What in the Pit happened? What's with the fleshie suit?"

Her shoulders shrugged. _"I'd tell you if I knew. Anyway, it's not a suit... more of a time-share, really."_

"... What?" The purring engine took on the overtone of a growl.

"_The human's spark is in here, too."_

'_Speaking of which... How're you doing?'_

Had she the control to manage it, she would have snorted. _Ouch._

'_Heh... Well, at least you can still feel, right?'_

"_You can meet her later. Her name's Evelyn. She's okay. Kind of boring, though."_

_Tomatoes,_ thought Evelyn with what vehemence she could muster. _Jello. Mac and cheese. Yogurt, with _peaches.

'_Okay, okay. Put it in neutral. I'm sorry.'_

The tingling lessened, and Evelyn slumped into the seat, curling and uncurling her fingers for the simple sake that she _could._

_All that money on therapy... and those damn pills... _

_Figures._

The voice laughed at her. _'So, what? You don't think you're crazy anymore?'_

Evelyn looked down at her hands, inordinately relieved that she could move that much. Dirt had turned the white sections of her nails black. A bruise was beginning to form along the back of her forearm, bordered by a section of raw, red skin. Both her palms were scraped and bleeding from the gravel outside the warehouse.

_This hurts too much to be a dream,_ she replied, feeling very much in need of a nice, cleansing cry.

* * *

**End Chapter Five**


	7. Unreal

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **some cursing, mild first-aid related ickiness, and a woman in her bra... Stop snickering!

**Author Notes: **Another shortie, but this is mostly transition with some character/relationship building moments and a heck of a lot of dialogue. Saa... Enjoy!

Also, thanks go out to **CaravanKa **for letting me know about a little booboo I made. I neglected to mention that the ends of the first two chapters, _Theft _and _Faces _(not the prologue), had extra sections tacked on the end about a day or so after they were originally posted. So, if you are unfamiliar with the 'tomato sandwich' scene or the 'school parking lot' scene, please go back and have a look.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Six**

* * *

_I just know, before this is over, I'm gonna need a whole lot of serious therapy. Look at my eye twitchin'._  
– _**Donkey, **__**Shrek**_

* * *

Evelyn awoke when a particularly nasty bump jolted the car. She could not remember falling asleep. Outside, the warm light of midday had cooled to the blues and grays of evening, tainting the bright green of the trees pressed close to either side of the narrow, country road. She blinked fuzzily at the array of lights scattered across the dashboard, and her gaze settled on the small screen set at the center, glowing with what appeared to be a screensaver, a flat red 'face' rotating in front of a blue field. It was uncannily like the purple sigils the monster-robot-car-giants had emblazoned on their hoods, but while the red face appeared stern, it did not have the air of malevolence that the purple face did. 

_Familiar, that, _she thought blearily.

She shifted, neck aching from sleeping upright, feet and thigh throbbing with old pain. She woke up further upon recognizing the discomfort low in her abdomen. Her gaze darted around the dimly-light interior of the car, lingering on the ever-twitching steering wheel. _Oh, boy._

_Hello? Voice...? _

_... Sideswipe?_

The presence was still there, far at the back of her mind, a perpetual, nonsensical mumble, but it seemed more distant than usual, and there was no reply to her call.

"Ah... excuse me?"

The red icon blinked out of existence, replaced by the face of the yellow and black giant. The image glowered at her, and the purr of the engine deepened.

"Er, is there a rest stop nearby? Or a gas-station?"

Blue eyes narrowed. There was no response.

"... I need to get out."

"No."

Evelyn looked ahead. The road was the usual twisting, turning sort in the lower foothills of the mountains, bits of stone peaking out of rust-red soil where the ground had been cut away to make way for construction. _Nearly in the Appalachians. _"Where are we going?"

"Where's Sideswipe?"

Evelyn 'listened' for the voice again and found that same mumble. "He's asleep, I think. Bodysnatching must really take it out of you," she added sourly.

"He's kept you alive."

_I sense a 'for now' dangling out there._ She sighed, shifting in her seat. "_Please, _pull over?"

"No."

"I'm serious. If there are no gas-stations, fine. Just pull over. I have to get out. I..." She grimaced, cheeks warming. "... I need to go to the bathroom."

"No."

"What do you mean, 'no'?" Her hands curled into fists, pressing into her thighs. "Maybe you don't understand. I _need_ to go to the _bathroom._ A restroom. _El baño. Il bagno. Le salle de bains. Otearai. _A _water-closet._ This isn't something that you can say 'no' to!"

"No." The engine revved smugly.

_I don't think this is translating. How do you explain the concept of a 'bathroom' to a giant robot?_

_... Okay, let's speak Robot. _

She sucked in a fortifying breath. "I need to... expel waste products from my body," she said, carefully enunciating each syllable. "I need to do so _soon,_ or my body will do so anyway without my permission. It will be messy and humiliating, and for the record, I refuse to clean _you_ out if it does happen. Does that compute?"

A few minutes passed. The car slowed and pulled to the side of the road, seatbelt retracting and door rising out of her way. Evelyn eased her sore feet onto the damp stone- and stick-laden ground.

"Thank you._  
_

* * *

_I will never take toilet-paper for granted again._

Her hose were mere skeletal remnants of their former selves, and those remnants sacrificed themselves nobly somewhere in the foothills of the Appalachians. As for the rest of her things, her purse and shoes were MIA, her blouse stained and torn. Her under-things and the medical glove seemed to be the only things to escape relatively unscathed. Evelyn mourned her skirt, one of her favorite articles of clothing, tattered and scorched as it was, as she limped through the itchy, clinging underbrush back to the impatiently idling car.

The door opened for her as she approached, but she sat with her feet hanging out of the car and bent to look at their abused soles.

_Damn._

"Break's over, squishy. Back inside."

"Hush a second." She cradled her foot and levered it atop the opposite knee. Her teeth ground together as she brushed dirt and soot and God-knew-what-else away from the cut and bruised flesh and proceeded to pick out the splinters and bits of gravel out of the deeper injuries, provoking sluggish trickles of blood to surface. She hissed and flinched when her ministrations aggravated tender nerves.

"What are you _doing?"_

Her lips parted in a humorless smile as she lowered her foot to the ground, attempting to rest it on its side as she brought its fellow up for similar treatment. _How much can a sentient car see?_

"I need to go home," she said at last, working at a particularly stubborn splinter.

"Not happening," came the growled response, accompanied by a rev of the ever-running engine.

"I said _need. _That's not like _want.__Want_ means that it would be nice if something did happen; _need_ means that bad stuff will ensue if something doesn't happen." She nearly bit her tongue when her grip slipped. "Ah... I need to go home, and I need a doctor—" _Robot-speak,_ she reminded herself. "—a mechanic. I need a mechanic to look at my feet."

"There are mechanics where we're going."

"Human mechanics?" she asked, feeling that the conversation was taking a decidedly surreal turn. "Because I don't really want to die."

"_Die?"_ The entire car vibrated with the force of the engine's rumble.

"Yeah." The debris on her arms and hands was easier (and less painful) to pick off. "These cuts, there's stuff inside them now, bits of dirt and wood. If I don't get them cleaned out, they'll get infected."

"... what does that mean?"

_What's Robot-speak for infections?_ "My feet will turn funny colors and fall off, and then I'll die."

"You're lying."

"I wish. At least take me back to my apartment. I've got a first-aid kit; I'll take care of myself, change my clothes... When the voi—When Sideswipe wakes up, we can talk."

"Right. You want to go back where the Decepticons are hunting for you. Do you miss them already?"

Evelyn smiled slightly, though there was very little humor in the expression. "Decepticons? Nice name. Very Trekkie. Seriously, though, take me home."

The engine's rumble rose and fell and rose again, finally settling somewhere in-between. "How long?"

"A week?" No reply. _Robot-speak,_ she reminded herself, and feeling vaguely foolish, she tried, "Seven days? Seven light times and seven dark times?" She pointed upward and wondered again what a car's visual field consisted of.

"One. One 'day'."

"Six."

"Two."

"Five."

"Three."

"Deal." _So, haggling is universal. Who knew?_ "Three days, and you and your 'brother' tell me what's going on."

"Three days, and a debriefing after _you_ find _me_ some decent polishing cloths and some wax."

Evelyn pondered that. "Will you take a run through a car-wash? Waxing and buffing included." _Marty's Car Wash does that, right?_

"Deal." A moment of silence passed, then: _"Now_ will you get in?"

"... oh." She scooted onto the seat fully, turning and, once more, resting her feet lightly on their sides. _I'll need to add an interior shampoo to that car-wash, _she thought ruefully. The seatbelt slithered back around her and secured itself even as the door hissed shut. "Thank you... Sunny."

"Sun_streaker."_ The car pulled a wide U-turn and settled into a brisk seventy-miles-per-hour pace back the way they had come, sending Evelyn's stomach into flip-flops whenever they rounded one of the many curves that characterized roads in the northern part of the state. "Let's get something straight, squishy. I couldn't give a gasket whether you live or die beyond whether Sideswipe lives or dies with you. After this is over with, you can walk straight in front of a rampaging gestalt and get squished into a little organic smear, and I won't give a smeltin' slag."

Evelyn let out a silent little puff of a laugh. "Nice to know where I stand." _What the hell's a 'gestalt'?_ "I don't suppose you'd stop with the 'squishy' comments? That's what the Deceptibots called me. It's freaky."

"Decepti_cons."_

"Right. Decepticons. Well, I'm Evelyn."

"Whatever, squishy."

* * *

The superintendent's apartment was located at the far, back corner of the building on the first floor. The hallway smelled of old carpet and paint, lit by fluorescent tube lights that picked out every flaw on the ancient walls and every stain on the even-more-ancient carpet. The superintendent was, likewise, ancient, his face a veritable roadmap of wrinkles haloed by a shock of snowy-white hair. 

His expression upon seeing Evelyn battered and subdued outside his door might have been humorous under different circumstances.

"M-miss Evy?"

Evelyn mustered a tired smile. "Mr. Johnson, I don't suppose you'd unlock my door for me? I seem to have misplaced my purse."

The old man's mouth opened and closed like that of a goldfish mouthing after bits of food. His eyes went from her face to her clothes to her feet and back again, blinking rapidly. "Miss Evy, what in God's name happened to you? You look like a herd of cattle done run you over!"

"That's convenient, then," she said with tired humor. "I _feel_ like I've been trampled by a herd of cows. I hate to trouble you so late, but I'd really like to get into my apartment, and like I said, I don't have my keys."

"Your apartment? Miss Evy, you don't need your apartment; you need a doctor! Come in and sit down and let me call someone! Good lord..."

_Do I look that bad?_ "Mr. Johnson, no, really... It looks worse than it is. There was—I was... I've had a very bad day," she finished weakly.

'_Such witty wordplay. Ever consider a career in espionage?'_

_You're awake, then?_ Evelyn scowled down at the carpet, feeling vaguely abandoned._ About time. Your brother's a real ass, by the way._

'_He's Sunstreaker,' _replied the voice, as though that should explain everything.

_And I'm exhausted. If I don't get a shower and a nap soon..._

_Well. It's not going to be pretty._

"Could you open my apartment? Please? I've already got an appointment with a doctor for tomorrow—"

'_Your voice squeaks when you lie. Did you know that?'_

"—and I've spoken with the police."

'_See? Did it again.'_

"I... Good grief, Miss Evy, if the missus ever found out I let you walk away looking like that..."

_Tapioca pudding. Ever had it?_

'_... no.'_

"Walk with me, then." She set off down the hallway, limping toward the old freight elevator at the back of the building. Behind her, she heard the old man curse softly and jog after her.

_Shut up, and I'll keep it that way._

* * *

The message light was blinking on her answering machine, a red beacon in the blue twilight of the room, when she closed the door to her apartment. The familiar normalcy of home surrounded her, making the happenings of the past day seem more distant than a dream, and it took her several long moments to prod herself into walking those short steps over to the side table and pressing the _play_ button. 

"**You have **_**five**_** unheard messages. **_**First**_** unheard message."** A familiar Southern drawl emerged from the speakers. **"**_**Chickadee? Hey. It's a little after ten. I just wanted to make sure you made it home okay. Call me when you get in, alright? Take care."**_

Beep.

"_**Second**_** unheard message: **_**Okay, hon, you know I hate these things, but it's ten in the mornin' now, and you still haven't called, and I'm not gettin' through on your cell. Gettin' a li'l worried. Did you get lost? Anyway... call me. Seriously."**_

Evelyn eyed the machine. The third message came: _**"—where on God's green earth are you? Evy, this ain't funny—"**_ She pressed _skip. _The fourth message came. _**"—Evelyn, if this is some weird kind of caller-screenin', I swear to God, I will slap you **_**so **_**hard—"**_

_Skip._

The fifth message came.

"_**Chickadee, you are really scarin' me. I've called everywhere. Where are you?"**_

Evelyn stood and stared at the phone. _Better call before she sends for the National Guard. _

'_It's good that she watches out for you.'_

_Hm. It's nice, yeah, as long as she doesn't... call... my..._

_... parents..._

_Oh, damn._

She picked up the receiver and began to dial.

'_Parents?'_

_Not now, Sideswipe._ A low ringing echoed down the phone line.

'_You used my name!'_ exclaimed the voice, delighted.

_Not now!_

There was the _crr-chk_ of a phone lifted from its cradle, and then: "Hello, this is Jamie Burke. Might I ask who's callin'?"

"Jamie, tell me that you didn't call my parents."

"... _Evelyn!"_ The receiver buzzed with static from the force of the shriek. "Evelyn Meredith Hughes, you had _better _be in the hospital, because if you aren't, so help me, _I'm gonna to put you there!"_

"Jamie—"

"I have been worried _sick!_ Have you seen the news? Buildings explodin', cars ripped to shreds, thefts all over: it's a madhouse! And you go harin' off to God-knows-where—"

"Jamie!"

"_What?"_

"Did you call my parents?"

"Well, of _course_ I did. You said you might visit while you were on med leave, so when you weren't at home, where else was I supposed to think you'd go?"

"Jesus, Jamie, I was only gone for a day!"

"_And I couldn't reach you at all! _Of course I've been worried! What in the name of Joseph and Mary have you been _doin'?"_

_I was kidnapped by giant alien robots and rescued by the rude, crude brother of the voice in my head. _

_Yeah, that'll go over well._

"I... There was... I..."

"Your needle's skippin'," drawled the other woman sourly. "Want to try a different record, _Chickadee?"_

'_You really _can't_ lie, can you?'_

"I... I was mugged!"

'_What?'_

"What?"

"Mugged. These two... guys, in black. They knocked me out and took my purse, and I woke up out in the boonies."

"Oh, my God," breathed Jamie. Then again, "Oh, my God. Are you alright?"

Evelyn grinned into the receiver. _From raging hellfire to mother-hen in point-five seconds flat. That's my Jamie._ "I'm fine. I've got cuts and bruises from here to Hiawassee, but that's it."

"They..." There was an odd quiver in the husky voice. "They didn't... hurt you, did they?"

"Hurt...?" Evelyn's stomach lurched. "No. No! Jamie, no, no, no, I'm fine. I just need a shower and some sleep. Honestly."

A moment of silence. "I'm coming over."

_Oh, no... _"Jamie, no. Not tonight, at least. I'm exhausted. I'm going to clean up, and then I plan to sleep for a day or two. Tomorrow, okay? We'll do dinner... or something. I dunno."

"Dinner."

"Yeah."

"Tomorrow."

"Right."

"Six-ish?"

"Why not?"

"Swear?"

"Pinkies and everything."

"... and you're sure you're alright?"

"Yes, you worrywart. I'm fine. Hunky-dory, okey-dokey, and all that good stuff... Of course, I'd be better if you hadn't called Mama and Daddy. Now the entire family is going to be showing up at my door."

"Full-scale family alert, I know. I'm sorry. But criminy, Chickadee, you had me frettin' worse than a cat in a kennel. Don't ever do that again!"

"I'll do my level best." _I could go to sleep right here,_ she thought. _Of course, Jamie would come at a run when she heard the 'thunk'._ "I really need to go. I need a shower, and I don't want to fall asleep in the stall."

"Alright. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll see you tomorrow."

"Thanks. You, too. Goodnight, Jamie."

"Night, Chickadee."

Evelyn settled the receiver back in the cradle and sighed a sigh that felt as though it came all the way from the soles of her feet, which chose that moment to throb warningly.

_Okay. First-aid, shower, then bed. Then a nice, long talk with the alien car and the disembodied voice, a trip to the car-wash, and dinner with Jamie._

'_At least you're not bored, right?'_

Evelyn limped across the blessedly cool carpet toward her bedroom and bathroom, working at the buttons of her blouse. _I am filthy and in pain, and I'm missing my purse and everything in it, and it turns out that my head really _is_ a time-share with some strange robot from outer-space..._

_But true, I am definitely not bored._

She dropped the blouse on the floor outside the bathroom, flicking on the light.

_Good lord... I really _do_ look that bad._

'_Primus. Those colors aren't natural, are they?'_

Evelyn traced one of the thick bands of faint blue-green flesh that stretched across her abdomen before wrapping both arms over her bare stomach and frowning. Her arms were dotted with smaller bruises and minor scratches. Her face was untouched save for a small cut across one cheek that was haloed by a bruise of its own. Her hair hung in messy, knotted tangles, her skin smudged with soot and dirt.

_I look like someone ran me over with a backhoe._

_At this rate, I'm going to need a vacation from this vacation._

* * *

**End Chapter Six**

* * *

_**El baño. Il bagno. Le salle de bains. Otearai. A water-closet. –**__ bathroom/restroom (Spanish) (Italian) (French) (Japanese) (Queen's English)_

_**MIA – **__Missing In Action_

_**Trekkie –**__ an avid fan of Star Trek science fiction, television shows, and films; by extension, a person interested in space travel; also called Trekker (source: Webster's New Millenium Dictionary)_

_**Hiawassee –**__ as in Hiawassee, Georgia, the city_


	8. Morning

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong**  
**

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **some cursing

**Author Notes:** I've just finished recovering from finals week. On the bright side, I'll have more time to write now. On the dark side, I think I failed one of my courses. Oooh, my head hurts...

Also, I find it highly ironic that all of the 'icky' foods I use with Evelyn are things that I really like. Who doesn't like escargot? Mmm-mmm, garlicky goodness.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Seven**

* * *

_One hell of a morning has turned into a bitch of a day!_

– _**Jack Colton, **__**Romancing the Stone**_

* * *

_Evelyn squinted through the kaleidoscopic tangle of water and light and shadow that swirled over the car window. Windshield wipers slapped back and forth, giving her brief glimpses of the night-shrouded highway, and the headlights of her car caught on the falling rain and the white dashes of paint outlining her lane, luminous in contrast with the shadowy interior of her car and black void of the sky overhead. A styrofoam takeout box sat beside her on the passenger seat, filling the air with the scent of chicken teriyaki and egg rolls._

_A green glow appeared and grew in her vision, catching on wet pavement and turning the rain into a shower of emeralds. As she rounded the curve and the traffic light entered her vision, the color changed to yellow. _

_Evelyn pressed on her brakes. _I could have made that,_ she thought as she slowed to a stop and the light switched to red. _God, I'm getting old.

_She flicked on the vents and fiddled with the tuning knob for her radio, searching out something a little less sleep-inducing than the mellow guitar and mournful warbling of the current station. She winced as eardrum-popping rap came and went, settling on a random rock and roll station and wishing that she had thought to take her car in and get the CD changer fixed the weekend before. _

At least the meeting went well,_ she comforted herself._ And I got some Chinese out of it, too.

_She glanced down at the takeout box and wondered if it was worth the trouble to dig out the remaining half of her egg roll. _

_She was reaching for the container when she realized that the light had changed. With a guilty start and a glance in her rearview, she moved her foot to the gas pedal, urging her car forward. The engine stuttered rebelliously, and she patted the steering wheel as one would a fretful horse. "C'mon, girl. Just a little further. I'll spring for premium next time I buy gas. How's that sound?"_

_The engine rumbled and steadied into a purr that was swiftly overlaid by a mechanical roar, and the world shattered._

* * *

The shrill ringing of her phone dragged Evelyn from a blissfully numb slumber, leaving her to paw blindly after the receiver on her bedside table. 

Her thoughts muzzy and disjointed from a night of restless sleep, she combed her tangled bangs out of her eyes and squinted at the glowing numbers of her alarm clock. Six-forty-two AM. _Jesus isn't awake this early,_ she thought peevishly and raised the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Evy? Honey, thank goodness. We got the strangest call last night."

"Mama." She rolled onto her back, sprawling carelessly and trying to twist her grimace into something more reminiscent of a smile. "Hi. How're the cows?"

Her mother's voice, pure Southern honey, wavered with laughter. "You always ask that."

"Just wondering whether Dad got his two-header yet."

"No mutant calf this year. But what's going down there? Jamie was beside herself yesterday, said you were missing."

"Oh, it's fine. Lost my purse and my cell. Big mess." _Need to cancel my credit cards, _she thought, frowning. _And get a new license. Wonderful. My social security card wasn't in there, was it?_

"Are you okay, sweetheart? You sound tired."

Evelyn chuckled, clenching her jaw when it tried to morph into a yawn. "Mama, not many people get up with the roosters nowadays."

"Oh." There was a short pause, then, "_Oh. _Oh, my goodness. I always forget... and you would sleep in during vacation, too, wouldn't you? I'm sorry, Evy."

"S'alright, Mama. I understand."

"Well, I'll let you get back to sleep, but not too long! And be sure to come and visit before your vacation is up, alright? Your father and I haven't seen you in forever. It doesn't make sense to not visit now that you have the time."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well... Well, I hope everything works out. Just give us a holler if there's anything we can do."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright. Good night, Evy... Or good morning," her mother added, chuckling.

"Good morning, Mama." Evy huffed a little laugh, grinning, and reached over to hang up the phone. She rolled over and drifted back to sleep.

Her entire body jolted in alarm when the phone rang again. Mumbling a mild curse, she fumbled the receiver off the bedside table and raised it to her ear.

"Hello?"

"Evelyn, what in the world is going on down there?"

Evelyn rolled her eyes and clenched her teeth around a silent snarl. _Full. Scale. Family. Alert._

"Lizzy, do you know what time it is?"

"Well, sure. Seven twenty-eight. Speaking of—_Zack! Jessie!"_ Evelyn jerked the phone away from her ear with a wince. _"Time for the bus!_ You really should see those two. Evy. Growing faster than weeds, both of 'em."

"Kids'll do that." Her eyes clenched shut against the growing pressure in her skull.

"And anyway, what in the world happened yesterday? Mama called last night and said you were missing. Well, I guess you aren't now, but something must have been going on. I thought you were on vacation, anyway, but I couldn't get your cell, and you _always _carry that—"

"_Elizabeth."_

"Yes?"

"It is seven-thirty in the morning. I just endured _the_ most horrible day of my _entire_ life, including junior prom. I'm tired, and I'm cranky, and now is not a good time."

Light, lyrical laughter drifted down the line. "Right! I forgot. Not a morning person, huh, Evy?"

"To say the least," she grumbled with an appreciative little quirk of her lips. "Later?"

"Later, sis. Lurv ya."

"Yeah. Lurv ya."

Still with that odd little smile in place, she returned the phone to the cradle.

'_Exactly how long does this go on?'_

_Well, there's Mama, Daddy, Elizabeth, and Richard. Then there's Auntie Grace, Vince, Christine, Mee-Maw, Carol, Uncle Titus, Gram Meredith, Great Uncle Clyde—_

'_Stop. Please.'_

A short period of blissful silence lulled her toward sleep before the phone rang again. With a moan that was half growl, she reached for the receiver once more. _"_Hello?"

"So, you're _not_ dead. That's something, I guess."

"Dick." Evelyn rolled her eyes heavenward and pinched the bridge of her nose. "So sorry to disappoint."

"You know I hate that name, Vee."

"It's either that or risk Mama overhearing me call you Dickhea—"

"Ah, ah, ah! Dear, darling baby sister, no need to get nasty. I was just wondering—"

"—'what in the world is going on down there?'"

A short pause, then, "... bad morning, baby girl?"

"Bad week. Bad year, maybe. A hermitage is looking oh-so-appealing right now, you have no idea."

"Would you like a copy of the next _Frontier?_ I guarantee a good giggle, at the least."

Evelyn grinned. "What have you got now?"

"_Ghost of Elvis told me to attack pedophile with pogo stick, says woman."_

"You're kidding me."

"I did the interview. I kid you not."

"And your brain didn't melt?"

"No. I think I sprained something from swallowing laughter, though. Think I could sue?"

"You'd be your own next headline."

"I'd pull double pay."

"Go for it." She chuckled, and his laughter answered her over the line.

"I'll schedule the interview." A moment passed, their shared hilarity fading away. "You _are_ all right, aren't you, Vee? The whole network is saying that you disappeared into thin air."

Evelyn snorted. "Lord. You lose your cell phone, and it's the end of the world."

"That's it?"

She grinned sardonically. "Well... I _was_ abducted by aliens, but a giant robot rescued me. I'm okay now."

The line went fuzzy from static as laughter overloaded the line. "Jesus, Vee! Can I get an interview with the robot?"

"You wouldn't like him. He's a real jerk."

He laughed again. "And Mom says _I_ have a weird sense of humor. You should come work at the _Frontier._ Janice would love you."

"No, thank you. I'm quite happy where I am... in bed."

"Very subtle, Vee. I need to get going, too. Long distance fees are a real pain. But first: are you planning on visiting the farm any time soon?"

"If I don't go there, they'll come here."

"Good point. Wonderful thing about Cali: too far for them to drive, and they're terrified to fly."

"Moving cross-country to avoid your parents... You're going to hell, you know."

"So I've been told. Seriously, you're really all right?"

"Perfectly, practically peachy."

"Give me a call if that changes, okay?"

"Okay. Don't know why I'd bother. The Hughes International Grapevine would get to you long before I did."

"It's tough being the baby, isn't it?"

"Try it."

"See you, Vee."

"Bye, Dickhe—"

_Click._

For the third time that morning, Evelyn hung up the phone. Barely thirty seconds passed before it rang once more, and the voice let out a sound akin to a whimper.

'_Make them go _away.'

Evelyn swore under her breath as she picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Is this... Evelyn Hughes?"

"Yes."

"Ms. Hughes, this is Randy Forps. We spoke a couple o' weeks ago, remember?"

Her mind drew a blank. The voice prompted, _'The car guy.'_

"Oh. Mr. Forps. Right. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I've got your car here..."

"Jinx?" she asked. A bemused silence filtered down the line. Evelyn blushed. "I mean, the blue Taurus. I call it... yes. Ah... Has something happened?"

"I remember your Taurus," replied the man. "I'm talking about your other car."

* * *

Her other car, as she saw two bus rides and one painfully tedious walk later _(Where's a talking alien car when you need one?), _now bore a large rectangular dent pressed down through its hood and more than halfway through the engine, leaving the car in a permanent hunch, front tires splayed out of alignment, front windshield a frosty spiderweb of cracks. 

The imposing form of Randy Forps stood beside her. "Someone called it in last night, and one of our boys brought 'er in. If you don't mind me askin', what happened? You drop a safe on it or summin'?"

"Or something," she murmured through pinched lips and clenched jaw.

"Right. Well, you'll need to fill out some paperwork, and there's the bill for the tow. It'll take me a few minutes to get it sorted. You could sit in the office, if you like...?"

"I think I'll wait right here, thank you."

"Right. Eh... back in a few, then. Don't wander off!" The last was said with a grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes, and he clumped off in the direction of the lot entrance. Evelyn waited until the rasp-crunch of his steps died away and then stepped forward, examining the dent. One corner of her mouth lifted in a grim little smile as she noted the ridges running horizontally across the impression.

_A footprint. With treads._

"Lucy," she said, "You got some 'splainin' to do."

'_... who's Lucy?'_

_You are._

'_Say what?'_

You _ran into my car._ You _put me in the hospital._ You _got me abducted by giant robot aliens._ You, you, you! _All because you couldn't stop at a traffic light. I dare you to tell me I'm wrong!_

_'I would if I knew.'_

_How perfect. The voice in my head has amnesia. _She huffed a bitter laugh. _Bad enough that I get dropped into some sci-fi series, you had to make it a sci-fi _soap opera.

_... you've even got the evil twin brother._

'_In his defense, Sunny has actually been pretty polite. And it's not my fault that I can't access my unconverted memory banks. You're not the only one who wants to know what's going on, you know.'_

_You _do _have memories, though. _

'_Of course.'_

_Then either it's story time or dinner time. Ever heard of something called _escargot?

* * *

'_Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals.'_

"Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals," repeated Evelyn dutifully, head turned away from the other passengers on the bus, words emerging as near-silent puffs of breath. The cement and brick and constant flow of pedestrian traffic of downtown Mason whisked past the window, occasionally slowing and stopping when the bus took on or let of passengers.

'_Autobots have red symbols. You know what they look like; I've seen you draw them.'_

_The red face._ Evelyn nodded to herself, lips pinched in determination to absorb the strange information.

'_Neutrals have yellow symbols. The Decepticons have purple symbols. Autobots and Decepticons have been fighting since... eh, I can't convert it to earth time without my chronometer. Before Sunny and I were built. Over a hundred thousand vorns, at least.'_

_That long, huh?_ thought Evelyn dryly.

The bus rounded the final corner to her stop, and she reached for a purse that was not there. She sighed and pulled herself out of her seat, swaying with the motion of the vehicle and gripping one of the overhead bars to keep her balance as the bus lurched to a halt. Her feet protested as she limped down the three steep stairs to the sidewalk and into the midday sunshine.

_And what do they find so fascinating about me?_

'_The Decepticons mentioned an odd energy signature. Presumably, that's me.'_

She stopped at a drugstore to purchase a newspaper out of one of the metal containers out front. She tucked it underneath her arm and continued the two block trek to her apartment. _Lucky, lucky me._

'_You've got Sunny on your—well, he's on _my_ side, which means he's on your side... at least until I get my body back. That's good, isn't it?'_

_Until you get your body back. _Evelyn's eyes narrowed. _Yes. Let's discuss that. How—_

The thought stuttered to a halt as she abruptly realized that her ears were ringing, and she froze in mid-step, eyes darting around the busy city street. Cars trundled past, stuck in the morass of midday traffic, and people flooded the sidewalks and clustered at restaurants for the lunch rush. No glistening black paint, no eerie purple symbols, no sign of the cars-that-were-robots could be seen.

Evelyn started forward again, still searching her surroundings. The ringing in her ears grew to a crescendo as she passed the last small side-street beside her apartment building, empty though it appeared, and as she walked further it began to fade.

_Was that... Sunstreaker, you think?_ she asked.

There was a long moment of contemplative silence.

'_Hopefully,'_ replied the voice.

Evelyn's day grew even stranger when she climbed the shallow steps up to the entrance of her apartment building. An odd, shadowy lump, about the size of a lunch box and stuck in the corner of the stoop, caught her eye. Curious, she bent down, and light glinted off a zipper and a small metal charm in the shape of an owl. Evelyn stared.

"No way."

She picked up her purse off the ground and eyed the scraped and singed leather and the broken strap. Unzipping the main pocket, she rifled through the contents, finding a mess of objects including a pocketbook, assorted bits of paper, a tube of lipstick, a bottle of aspirin, and a cell phone. The cell phone showed somewhere around forty-two missed calls.

Underneath the purse lay a pair of battered slip-on shoes. She picked those up as well.

_Well,_ she thought dazedly, _at least I don't need a new license._

* * *

**End Chapter Seven**

* * *

_**Escargot –**__ edible terrestrial snail usually served in the shell with a sauce of melted butter and garlic __(source: __WordNet® 3.0, © 2006 by Princeton University_


	9. Stranger

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **some cursing

**Author Notes:** Robot goodness ahoy. The plot is moving, people, slowly but somewhat steadily. I try to have something relevant to the plot in each scene. It's a good rule of thumb to keep on track. I hope I'm not deviating too much... and I hope I'm keeping up the suspense sufficiently.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Eight**

* * *

_Some say that the universe is made so that when we are about to understand it, it changes into something even more incomprehensible. And then there are those who say that this has already happened. _**  
**_**– **__**Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy**__**, Douglas Adams**_

* * *

'_Has she ever considered a career in interrogation?'_

Evelyn chuckled at the plaintive question, more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else. _Jamie's always been like that. Her students swear that she can smell lies._

'_I noticed. Nice story, by the way. Muggers, kidnapping, abandoned in the wilderness... Very _Days of Our Lives.'

_So glad you approve._

She draped her coat over the back of a chair and dropped her keys and purse (a smaller, newer version with all the transplanted contents of the old) atop the counter. With a sigh that was half-moan, she slid into the chair and tilted her head back, temples throbbing with a headache that had been growing since mid-afternoon.

The ringing in her ears remained, but it was very faint, a far cry from the fluctuating keen that had plagued her throughout her dinner meeting with Jamie. _Could your brother... God, it's strange to think of a robot as a 'brother'... Could Sunstreaker have followed me?_

'_Anything's possible.'_

_But not probable. _She sighed again. _A sunshine-yellow sports car would stand out in a crowd._

_Of course, you'd think I'd notice a black sports car with that purple _thing_ on its hood, too..._

She reached for her purse, digging out a bottle of aspirin and dry-swallowing a pair of the chalky white pills. Her gaze caught on the gray lump of the newspaper she had picked up earlier that day, and she pulled it towards herself, mild curiosity mingling with tired boredom as she flipped it open and examined the headlines.

**Local Factory Warehouse Destroyed, Police Baffled** featured prominently, taking up most of the page. Below it was **Traffic Violations On The Rise** and **Gang Wars In Mason?** The largest photo was of the remnants of the warehouse surrounded by fire trucks and police cars, and Evelyn could see the remains of the black sports car off to one side, charred beyond recognition. A smaller photo of one of the black cars _(Decepticons,_ she thought) was beside the gang war article.

Feeling a sudden surge of interest, Evelyn pulled herself to her feet and made her way over to the small side-table that housed her laptop. After suffering through the long series of whirrs and hums and clicks that characterized the boot-up process, she opened the internet and did an image search for _sports car._ A series of pictures popped up, most of them featuring cars that seemed to be one step away from appearing in a _Star Trek_ series. She frowned and tried various 'fancy' car names that she could remember.

_Ferrari_ was the first positive result. Halfway down the page was an image that seemed familiar, and upon closer examination, Evelyn decided that it was the car that had followed her to the bar with Jamie and later abducted her, the one she had seen transform.

_Porsche_ was the next positive result. She clicked on the image to enlarge it and examined it critically. _The car from the high school, _she decided. _A Porsche._

_Do I get points for being abducted by high-dollar vehicles?_

She tried several others. No name she could think of matched the car from outside the warehouse, though a few came close, but when she tried _Lamborghini..._

"Oh my."

_A Lamborghini. An _alien_ Lamborghini, but still a Lamborghini._

'_Impressed?'_

Evelyn snorted, still examining the sleek vehicle. "I may be a newcomer to the world of sports cars and alien robots, but even I know that Lamborghini equals big-time status symbol."

'_... that was a compliment, right?'_

Evelyn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Yes, Sideswipe. That's a compliment."

* * *

Evelyn awoke the next morning to the sight of her alarm clock blinking 12:00 over and over again in steady measure. _Wonderful. Another blackout._ She squinted into the blue-gray twilight veiling her bedroom, entire body heavy with interrupted sleep, and wondered what had woken her. 

A high-pitched, somewhat musical _meep meep_ came faintly to her ears.

_A car horn?_

The voice roused groggily. _'Sunny?'_

Evelyn blinked. _Oh, brother._

She flung the covers to one side and hurried, somewhat unsteadily and shivering in the chill air, into the living room. The _meep meep_ repeated, louder as she neared the window. Old wood and moist paint stuck stubbornly against her efforts before the window shifted with a loud _crack._ Evelyn poked her head outside, hair dangling around her face in a tangled mess, cool wind rushing past into her apartment.

Two stories down, a yellow car sat in shadow, paint bleached to a pale gray in the dim pre-dawn light. Evelyn frowned, and then she glared.

"What are you _doing?"_ she called in a hoarse stage-whisper.

"Get down here."

"Wha—? _No!_ Do you know what time it is? Go away!"

The car's engine revved loudly. "Get _down here,_ or I'll come _up there."_

Evelyn quickly calculated. Being on the third floor, it was unlikely that the robot could reach her. On the other hand, she certainly did not want to see him _try._

Tingling washed over her, and she was suddenly a passenger in her own body. _"Sunny, what's going on?"_

Evelyn's tired irritation flickered and grew into outright anger. _Sideswipe! Ask next time! _

The voice ignored her, and the car replied, "There's a beacon signal."

Her body tensed. _"Encrypted?"_

"Autobot frequency."

"_... I'm on my way."_

With an almighty mental wrench, Evelyn regained control. "Hold it! _Hold it!_ What's going on?"

The car's engine revved again, angrily. "Keep out of it, squishy."

"Mind your manners, you oversized excuse for a Studebaker! My body, my rules, and I'm not going anywhere until I know why!"

Somewhere below, a window slammed open, and an accented male voice snarled, "Wouldja' keep yer frickin' lovers' spats for daylight hours, ya idjits? Some of us're tryin' t' sleep here! ... damn kids..."

_Slam._

Evelyn's face flushed in mortification. Her hands clenched on the window ledge until her knuckles turned white and her fingers ached. _Sideswipe. Explanation. _

'_A beacon signal,'_ explained the voice, _'is a way for mechs to find each other. If it's encrypted and on an Autobot frequency, it means there's another Autobot around.'_

Evelyn considered. _... would this get you out of my head?_

'_It'd be a step in the right direction!'_ replied the voice cheerily. _'I don't know how to do a transfer, and Sunstreaker's not the fastest processor off the assembly line. We need a medic, and to get a medic, we need contact with Autobots.'_

_I wish you had mentioned this earlier._ Evelyn slumped against the windowsill. _Don't we need to find your body first? Isn't that kind of important?_

'_Very important, but Sunny already has it.'_

Evelyn had the sudden disconcerting sensation that the world was spinning much faster than normal, leaving her far, far behind every other being on the planet. _When did this happen?_

'_We... talked.'_

_You'd think I'd remember._

'_A lot has happened in the past few days.'_

Evelyn could practically see the words COP OUT written in bright neon letters. However, she was too tired to play Sherlock Holmes with a disembodied alien voice. _All right. Whatever. Hi-ho, Silver, and whatnot._

"Give me a few minutes," she whisper-yelled at the car. "We're coming." She pulled herself inside but abruptly paused and poked her head back out the window. "And keep quiet!"

Closing the window and walking away, she winced as one last defiant _meep meep_ rang through the air.

_Lord. This is going to end with me getting beamed up, I just know it..._

* * *

"_Where's the signal coming from?"_

"One-point-five deca-units to the north of the settlement. Approximately." The yellow car's engine revved. "It's an intermittent beacon. I'll narrow it down as we go."

Evelyn and the voice had reached a compromise: the voice could speak through her as long as it left everything else alone. It made for an odd picture, her mouth carrying on a conversation while her eyes took in the passing scenery and her head turned this way and that when something interesting came into view. Her hands fidgeted, fingers plucking at the fabric of her jeans, her concession to the voice's suggestion that she wear something in which she could _'run like slag... just in case',_ and her heart seemed determined to run at double-time.

_This road..._

A duffle bag sat in the driver's seat, containing an extra set of clothes and a quick mockery of a survival kit—a bottle of water, a few granola bars, a first-aid kit, and her purse. The robot-car had grumbled mutinously at the extra weight, but a well-timed quip from Sideswipe about _'getting rusty' _had silenced the complaints.

_This is the highway... where..._

Dawn had not broken yet, but the sky was growing steadily lighter. Early morning traffic seemed to stand still as the Lamborghini cruised effortlessly in and out of the clumps of vehicles. Dense forest lined the highway on either side, endless lines of leafy sentinels. Here and there among the foliage were lighter spatters where leaves were beginning to change to yellow and orange.

_... where I..._

"Almost there." A moment later, a traffic light came into view, and the car began to slow.

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat. _Sideswipe... This is where we... _

_... met._

'_What?' _The voice sounded intrigued. _'Are you sure?'_

Indignant, she replied, _I'm not the amnesiac here. I'm sure._

To her further apprehension, the yellow car turned onto a faint dirt track that led into the forest just behind where both cars had impacted the trees. A slew of foreign curses emerged from the speakers as the low-slung car scraped its undercarriage on the uneven ground, and the cursing grew more vehement as the trees pressed close on both sides, branches brushing and scraping on yellow paint.

"... scrap-for-brains, rusty, oil-stained son of a grease gun, out in the slagging middle of a slagging organic wasteland..."

Several minutes of rough, snail-slow driving later, the dirt track widened, and the car rolled to a halt. Evelyn's door opened. "End of the road, squishy."

Resignedly, she picked up the duffel bag and slid out of the car, staring at the surrounding trees, hearing the rustle of wind among the leaves and the occasional distant rush of a passing car, all mingled with the ever-present ringing that came of being in the robot's presence. The scent of moist leaves and soil filled the air, and she pulled her jacket more firmly around herself as the ambient chill nipped at the exposed skin of her face and hands and tried to slither underneath her clothing. A frighteningly familiar mechanical screech startled her, sending her stumbling away from the car and into a nearby bush.

Yellow metal folded and flipped and shifted and grew until the robot stood over her, his head reaching nearly the uppermost branches of many of the trees, armor gleaming in the pale morning light.

Evelyn pulled herself out of the clinging tendrils of the bush, damp from dew and feeling the beginnings of the itchy creepy-crawly sensation that accompanied any trek in the wilderness. "Thanks a lot."

The robot smirked down at her, then looked off into the forest. "Come on."

With many an agonized crack and creak, trees bent and snapped as the robot forced his way through the woods, undergrowth ripped and trampled by giant yellow feet. Evelyn followed with a sigh.

_It's too early for this..._

Several minutes into the journey, a second source of ringing grew steadily louder as Evelyn followed the robot on its destructive trek through the innocent wilderness. Still-healing feet burning, abused muscles aching, she was inordinately grateful that she had worn jeans and not one of her favored skirts, especially after she freed herself from her second bramble bush, weight of the duffel bag a steady drag on her shoulder. The robot continued unencumbered, tac-sized thorns finding no purchase on gleaming metal armor, but Evelyn realized that she was only able to keep up due to her smaller size and better maneuverability in the cramped surroundings.

_If I sprain my ankle... _She searched for an appropriate ending to the thought in vain. Dejected, achy, and tired, she settled for, _If I sprain my ankle, that would be... depressingly typical._

_Someone owes me big for this._

Sunstreaker pushed past a thick line of trees, steps slowing to a halt. Evelyn watched with tired curiosity as the robot scanned the surroundings. One gigantic hand rose slightly, and an equally gigantic handgun flickered into existence within its grip. _Houdini strikes again._

The second ringing was now even louder than Sunstreaker's presence. The robot strode forward, handgun held at the ready, and as he broke through the thick wall of growth that characterized the edge of a forest, he stiffened visibly and raised the gun to a firing position.

'_What the slag?'_

Startled at the strange behavior, Evelyn eased forward scrambling gracelessly through the damp mutilated remnants of forest undergrowth, ears tingling at the strength ringing, keening noise. Panting, she peered around the tree-trunk sized yellow leg and stared dumbly at the black and white robot standing at ease on the other side of the clearing, boxy arms crossed over its prominent chest, visored and masked face completely unreadable.

Evelyn had taken a step back before she realized she had moved. The hair along her neck stood at attention and saluted. _Him!_

Sunstreaker stood rock-still, gun trained unwaveringly on the other robot. "Give me a good reason why I shouldn't deactivate you."

The other robot did not seem all that upset to be on the wrong end of a loaded weapon. "I wouldn't try it. I'd hate to lose two good mechs in less'n a vorn."

"What?"

'_What?'_

Evelyn's stomach roiled. Her eyes darted around, seeking out whatever could be making her feel so uneasy, but there was only Sunstreaker and the masked and visor-wearing Offbeat and trees and bushes and dirt. The combined ringing from the two robots' presences made her squint, and she shook her head as though it would help. It didn't.

The black and white mech nodded. "I'm sorry about yer brother, Sunstreaker. By the time I caught up, there was nothin' I could do. But right now, I can't let ya shoot me, either."

Sunstreaker's hand tightened noticeably around the grip of the gun. His feet slid into a wider stance, plowing up mounds of dirt and grass, and Evelyn moved further behind his leg. _He doesn't know about you._

'_Lucky son of a glitch. If I _were_ deactivated and he'd said that, he'd be scrap-metal before you could say "sunshine".'_

Evelyn glanced up at the yellow robot standing tensely poised over her. _I believe it._

"What sort of game are you playing?" growled Sunstreaker in a voice that could freeze mercury.

"No game, I swear. Ya just wouldn't believe me if I told ya. Ya don't seem t' be in much of a listenin' mood."

"Then I might as well kill you and get it over with."

"I'd rather ya didn't," replied the black and white robot frankly. "My CMO's a li'l tetchy about things like blaster burns and holes in my armor."

"You think that'll stop me?"

"Nope... but _he _will." The robot nodded at something off to the side, and Evelyn turned to look, suddenly realizing what had been wrong with the situation.

The ringing was so _loud..._

The air rippled and boiled like heat waves over hot asphalt, and a towering figure seemed to melt out of the air, first a vague outline glowing orange and then white and blue armor fading into existence. A third robot stood, gleaming in the dim light, holding a large nasty-looking rifle leveled and ready.

On its chest was a stylized face, somber and square, painted vibrant red.

"Meet Mirage."

* * *

**End Chapter Eight**

* * *

_**CMO-**__ Chief Medical Officer_

_**Vorn-**__ Cybertronian unit of time, approx. 83 years (see the link in the author profile for more detailed information on Transformer time units)_


	10. Taken

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Okay. Strange chapter. I'm not that happy with it, so it'll probably be at the top of my 'to revamp once inspiration strikes' list. Of course, parts of it are meant to be blurred and choppy to convey mind-melting panic on Evelyn's part, but... we'll see. On the bright side, more plot movement! I blame any sub-par writing on the face that I wrote this at three in the morning while watching Jim Henson's _Labyrinth._ Good movie, bad for robot-esque inspiration.

Also, strange stories from Real Life:

Last week, I heard a rumor from a reliable source that a Lamborghini of unknown year/model is somewhere in my sleepy little southern town, getting an overhaul. I've yet to verify it. The next day I was walking through our antique mall and found a poster of a red Lamborghini Countach (Sideswipe!) in one of my friends' booths. To make things weirder, the day after that I saw a Mac truck with a bright red cab and blindingly-blue trailer, no company logo anywhere at all, parked along my route to work.

It's been a very surreal week**  
**

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Nine**

* * *

_"Mad Al and the boys told me what you did. It wasn't a nice thing to do."  
"There wasn't a nice thing that would work." _**  
**_**– Miss Dearheart and Moist, **__**Going Postal**__** by Terry Pratchett**_

* * *

Branches slapped the exposed skin of her face and hands, vines catching at her clothes like clawing hands. Chill air nipped at any flesh it could reach. Her legs burned, her lungs burned, her feet burned... Her entire body was aflame, and she could not stop running. 

_I hate you! I mean it! I really, _really_ hate you!_

'_Now is not the time!'_

A thunderous explosion echoed through the peaceful woodlands. Her foot caught in a rut hidden beneath the layers of fallen leaves, pitching her forward into a graceless, spread-eagle skid down a short, shallow slope, straight into a damp, muddy depression that in the rainy months might have been part of a creek. She came up with the taste of dirt in her mouth, water seeping into her clothes and weighing down her hair.

"_This must be the clumsiest body ever designed,"_ her voice grumbled hoarsely.

_It is not the car's fault if the driver steers it into a ditch!_

Limbs tingling, her body hauled itself to its feet, thigh smoldering with reawakened pain, medical glove heavy with mud and dirty water. Her clothes clung to her skin, cold and uncomfortable, but she scooped the fallen duffel bag out of the muck and scrambled up the next slope as a new round of booms and bangs and shrieks broke out behind her.

'_You should be thanking me. This is the second time I've saved your aft. You really want to stick around while those three brawl?'_

_Thank__ you? Say _what?!

She jogged onwards, finally slowing beside an old gnarled tree, overgrown with vines. There was a moment of hesitation before she circled the tree and sat, scooting back into a hollow within the greenery, dragging the duffel in beside her and tucking her legs close to her chest. Wet cloth felt like panels of ice pressed against her skin, and shivers crept up and down her frame.

'_As I understand it, you're supposed to get thanked when you help someone else out. You've been really rude, you know?'_

_Is that _so? _How about "Thank you for running me over, putting me in the hospital for the better part of two months, and making me think I was insane"? Does that cover it? _

'_Ah... Not exactly what I—'_

_Maybe I should add "Thank you for bringing giant evil robots to my planet and letting them kidnap me." _

'_I was thinking more along the lines of—'_

_Oh! Here's a good one: "Thank you for shooting my insurance premiums through the _stratosphere."_ I could never have done _that_ without your help!_

A moment of silence passed, broken only by the continued sounds of amplified gunfire from deeper in the woodland.

'_... call it even?'_

_You _wish.

One last explosion echoed through the trees before all fell deathly silent. Nothing moved, not the rustle of leaves or the flutter of birds' wings. Any wildlife with a sense of self-preservation had long since fled the area and likely would not return for days.

Her body itched and tingled, muscles tense and still as stone, eyes staring directly ahead. The silence pressed in on her ears, only the faintest ringing to be heard.

'_Guess it's over.'_

_I thought the red symbol meant good guys. Why would he attack...? I mean, the other robot had a purple symbol, but even so..._

'_There's an art to handling Sunny,'_ said the voice, _'especially when he's in the field.' _There was a thoughtful pause, then, _'Popping out of thin air with a loaded weapon is _not_ it.'_

The damp patches were slowly beginning to take on the warmth of her body, but any shift in the air chilled them within seconds. Evelyn would have rubbed at the afflicted areas, but she was not in control and merely sat, enduring.

_Did he win, you think?_

'_I_ am_ kinda' counting on him being the first one to find us.'_

Evelyn felt a swift flicker of alarm. _Kinda'. Meaning one of the _other _alien robots could be first. We are not running _because...?

'_What's the point? "Weird energy signature," remember? Anything with scanners can track us.'_

A brisk wind twined through the woodland, stirring leaves into a whispering chorus and stealing away any warmth that Evelyn had accumulated, prompting a new fit of shivers. The only warmth to be found in her body was the burning ache of abused muscles and healing injuries. _You stink at this reassurance thing._

Time passed. Evelyn 'wriggled' impatiently, trying to regain control if only so that she could lift her wrist long enough to discern the time, but the voice's hold seemed even stronger than before, iron bands around her body... or perhaps steel wire for her puppet strings, stealing away her movement.

She suddenly empathized with Pinocchio.

_We have got to do something about this bodysnatching habit you have,_ she grumbled, but a faint ringing began to grow in her ears, and her body tensed as both she and the voice listened intently.

A gentle, rhythmic _rush rush_ sound drew steadily closer, soft footsteps upon leaf-strewn ground, much quieter than anything Sunstreaker had managed... and they were approaching from the opposite direction of the battle.

With her eyes loosely focused directly ahead, she saw the shift in the ground more quickly than she would have through actively searching. One... two... three. _Rush... rush... rush._ Branches overhead bent and swayed in nonexistent wind, and Evelyn's heart made a valiant attempt at climbing up her throat.

"Please, don't run."

The voice came from empty air, softly echoing. Each word was formed with cultured precision, a noticeable difference from the other robots that Evelyn had heard speak, a noticeable difference from most other _humans_ Evelyn had heard speak.

Once more, the air rippled and swayed, orange outline glowing before blue and white melted into existence. The new robot stood in his thirty-foot glory no more than a stone's throw away from her pitifully inadequate shelter.

_I think... it might be my turn for an 'I told you so.'_

Silently, without even the subtlest hum of machinery, the robot lowered himself to one knee. The rifle it had held so easily aimed at Sunstreaker rested diagonally across his back, butt showing above one shoulder.

"I will not harm you." The robot's position reminded her of a human trying to endear itself to a skittish cat, body drawn in as small as possible, hand held out in invitation. Somehow, the 'here, kitty, kitty, kitty' position did not work well when performed by a metal giant over thirty feet tall. "However, I cannot believe that you would rather make your own way back to the settlement. It is quite a journey for one so small."

Had she been in control of her body, Evelyn would have gaped indignantly. _I beg your pardon?_

"My companion merely requested that I return you to your dwelling on my way through your settlement." The offered hand twitched slightly, beckoning. "Neither of us would feel right to leave you stranded."

'_No Decepticon is this polite.'_ Not a single muscle of her body shifted. Her eyes narrowed slightly. _"Sunstreaker lost."_

The robot tilted his head ever-so-slightly to one side, looking vaguely surprised. "Yes. We took his capabilities into account when we planned the... rendezvous." Silver lips quirked in the smallest of smiles before his expression smoothed back into placid neutrality. "He is unharmed, I assure you, merely offline, but there was not time for a more diplomatic solution, and we could not leave him behind."

"_You're leaving?"_

"Yes."

"_And you're taking Sunstreaker."_

"My commanding officer would have been most displeased did we not."

"_Then you're taking me, too."_

Something within Evelyn's head seemed to spark and flare in alarm, like a broken powerline crackling and snapping against asphalt. _What?_

The robot appeared confused. "I cannot. Removing you from your home environment would be dangerous... potentially lethal."

"_I'm not a human. I'm Sideswipe, an Autobot. You think any normal human would hang around with Sunny? Ask me anything. Cybertron, Decepticons, Autobots... I'll recite the initiation oath, if you want."_

The robot's eyes flared and darkened, the light quivering and fluctuating for several long moments like the lights on a working modem, before brightening to a steady glow once more. "Sideswipe was deactivated. My companion examined the body. There was no spark."

_You can't—_

"_My spark is in this body. You can read it on your sensors. That's why the Decepticons wanted me, wasn't it?"_

"It was my understanding that you were an established member of the organics' colony."

"_On this planet, blending in is a survival trait."_

_Sideswipe—_

Once more, the robot's eyes darkened for a few seconds before brightening. "What model are you? Which unit?"

"_Custom ground-based model for melee combat, outfitted for brief flight, armored for heavy damage but with above-average speed and agility, designed by Shoulderscrew on request from a Prime. Last I remember, Sunny 'n' me were working as part of the defense force for a mining crew out of Axis Nebulon."_

"I see." Again, the blue eyes dimmed and flared. "A match for the history we have. But there is no time for delays. We have to make an emergency evacuation. Waiting for you cost us precious time. One of the Decepticons put out a call to allied forces for backup. A small force is on its way from a nearby system, and we need to be off-planet to lure them away from this planet before they come in sensor range. We cannot allow them to uncover a place so rich in resources, do you understand?"

"_Perfectly."_

"We will not be able to return until the fleet has moved far enough out of range. Remain here, and I will request that a party return—"

"_You can _not_ leave me here! I want my body back, and the only way that's happening is if someone with the know-how is around to help, and that won't happen if you leave me on this Primus-forsaken mudball!"_

_You're not seriously talking about—_

"That may be, but would that body survive the journey?"

"_Provide atmosphere matching this planet's, clean water, and a food source, and I'll be prime."_

_You can't!_

"Food would be problematic, though our unit has scientists that could likely synthesize a replacement. Even so, it would be much safer if you remained here and waited."

"_I'll be safer when I'm back in my own body." _Her lips twisted into a grim smirk. _"And if you think Sunny is hard to handle normally, wait until you tell him you abandoned me on this rock."_

"... I still would not recommend it." The blue and white robot regarded her somberly. "But the ship has a containment unit that could support you until we rendezvous with the others, if you insist."

_No!_

Her body uncurled from the impromptu shelter of the tree and it's surrounding growth, hitching the duffel bag over one shoulder, regarding the robot levelly. _"Yes."_

The robot considered her for several long minutes before nodding once. "Very well."

_You can't do this!_

The blue and white robot did not transform into a recognizable car form. Instead, it flipped and folded until something like a sleek, gleaming shuttle off of a science-fiction series sat in its place. Her body moved without her permission, walking stiffly around to the back of the alien vehicle where a small ramp had lowered, leading to a featureless cargo hold.

_You can't—Let me go! Stop it!_

Her body sat, half-reclining against the strangely warm metal of the vehicle's insides, muscles held tensely still, occasionally twitching.

_This is kidnapping! _

'_If they knew about you, they would not take us.'_

_Because I don't want to go!_

'_They're taking Sunny.'_

_He said they'd come back for you!_

'_I lost him once. It won't happen again.'_

The trip was a jumble of impressions: warm metal, shifts in inertia, faint whispers of machinery, the scents of metal and ozone, vibrations crawling through her frame. Panic bloomed within her, clouding her perceptions like a tangle of writhing vines wrapped tightly around her mind. Her eyes gazed serenely ahead even as her heart fluttered like a trapped bird, beating ineffectually against her ribs, and her mind twisted and writhed and bucked in a senseless, furious battle to regain control, receiving only the faintest of twitches for her efforts.

Her mouth was moving, voice emerging to ask questions about Sunstreaker, about the other robot Offbeat, and the blue and white robot's voice came from all around, talking about another shuttle and a prisoner and alternate routes.

Time seemed to move much to fast. There was a sense of time passing, and she was in the woods again, but these woods were different, all pine trees with rocks peaking from the soil like miniature mountains, and she followed at the heels of a blue and white giant as they walked directly toward an oddly shaped ridge jutting from the ground. Suddenly, it was not a ridge but a gleaming construction of metal, larger than her apartment building, lying partially buried in the fallen detritus of the surrounding woods. Her endless mantra of _no, no, no_ was blithely ignored, and even when her body stumbled to its knees at the threshold of the strange craft, her control was fleeting, somehow overcome by the tingling, itching sensation of a mind that was not hers. The robot asked something; was that concern? Her traitorous body picked itself up and spouted casual nonsense about clumsiness and awkward organic bodies.

'_Stop fighting.'_

Time sped forward. They passed through corridors and rooms, echoingly empty rooms of metal with strange lights and alien instruments and ceilings that loomed higher than three stories. She followed the robot to a new room, small and empty but still dizzyingly tall, brightly lit with featureless walls, and the robot was speaking, saying something about pressure and containment and scientific samples and rushed departures, and her voice was replying with words that she did not want to say.

And the robot was gone, the door sealed, and her body was settling into a slouch against the base of one of the walls. Evelyn's panic reached new heights.

A sense of time passing, of a clock ticking, ticking, ticking away ate at her mind.

_Please. Please, don't do this. I don't want to. You can't do this! Call him back! _

The floor vibrated and lurched, and the panic reached new proportions as her entire body seemed to buzz with the need to do something, _anything, _but her heart merely beat all the faster, lungs drawing in short, hiccupping gasps of air, and her tingling muscles slowly relaxed, her head and shoulders reclining against the wall as her eyes drifted closed.

'_Too late now,'_ said the voice with something akin to weary triumph. _'We're on our way.'_

_No... No, no, no..._

The floor pressed up against her, her stomach dropping out of her to spatter on the ground somewhere far below as her head drifted up off her shoulders to hang in space. Beyond the red mask of her eyelids, the light dimmed and flickered before resuming its unforgiving glare, shining like a blazing star, and her mind swam with images of blue-white light, a star held cupped in the palm of her hand as fire clawed and burrowed underneath the skin of her arm, ripping at her flesh until it fell away. Snakes of flame crawled in her blood, searing her from within as they coiled around her heart and _squeezed _until thought and feeling were lost to that dark moment between heartbeats, between breaths, when the next would never come.

* * *

**End Chapter Nine**

* * *

** A/N: **I have a new theory on why Mirage dislikes Earth: it's much harder to sneak around invisibly when you've got nightmarish amounts of organic plantlife rustling and creaking every time you move. It's probably a lot easier to sneak around on Cybertron where everything is nice and developed, no? 


	11. Awake

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, mood swings

**Author Notes:** Transition chapter ahoy. Hey, more robots! That's good, right?

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Ten**

* * *

_It's been a big day, what with the abduction and all. _**  
**_**– Simon, **__**Firefly**_

* * *

She dreamed of wet grass and smoke tainted air, the mechanical groaning of an engine damaged beyond repair blending with the whisper of falling rain. Ever-changing light caught on falling drops: red, green, yellow, red, green... each color vibrant against inky black.

She dreamed of red metal, twisted and mangled, and silver puzzle pieces strewn upon the ground like things discarded from a child's toybox. Puddles of blue and pink gleamed upon grass and pavement. A steady glow pried past jumbled metal, fingers of light pressing through to caress the shadows.

She dreamed of gold, cracked and dull, damp yet warm, her skin crawling with static at its touch.

She dreamed of a star, pure and perfect and beautiful, cupped within her palms.

She dreamed of pain.

She dreamed of the dying shrieks of tortured metal and laughing demons with fiery eyes.

She dreamed of quiet voices that echoed and resonated, reaching into her chest and vibrating within her belly and lungs like rolling thunder.

And then the shadows of a rain-soaked night faded and drifted apart like mist beneath sunlight, and she suddenly realized that she was no longer dreaming.

"Stop moving before I weld the wrong thing." Clatter of metal on metal, a loud sizzling hiss. "What did this?"

A second voice, familiar, consonants smudged negligently. "One o' those ol' laser cannons the 'Cons were so fond of. Remember those? Big ugly things."

"I remember the messes they made. Didn't know they still used them."

"Yup. Still hurts same as ever, too."

A laugh, short, humorless. "You're lucky Mirage knows basic repair." A pause. "Did you ever find it?"

Sigh. "Kinda'. Found what was left of it."

"Damaged?"

"Destroyed."

A moment of silence.

"... slag."

"Yeah."

Her face and arms were cool to the point of chilled, hair prickling in goosebumps. Light pressed against her closed eyelids in a torrent of orange and red. The air smelled of oil and metal and ozone, foreign and unsettling, and she lay on something uneven and vaguely soft. Her fist clenched around a handful of scratchy, bumpy material.

With a jolt, she realized that her ears were ringing, and her eyes blinked open. Blazing white light assaulted her retinas with fury matched only by the sun itself, and a pained hiss puffed past her teeth as she jerked away, squeezing her eyes closed.

_Oww..._

"I said _hold still._ Primus help me, I _will_ bolt you to the table."

"Thought I heard somethin'."

The persistent clinks and hisses that had been perpetual background noise slowed and halted. "Far be it for me to doubt your magic audio-receptors."

Evelyn's eyes opened once more, this time with more caution, squinting against the force of the light overhead. The white and gray blur above her slowly resolved into a gray ceiling dotted with huge, blazing bright lights. She blinked away the pained tears gathering in her eyes and raised one hand cautiously, shielding her face from the glare.

"Ah-hah." A flurry of mechanical sounds, hums and whines and creaks, mixed with loud _boom boom_ noises that shook the surface upon which she lay, and the light was abruptly cut off as something loomed over her. "About time."

Glowing blue eyes narrowed in a shadowed face, a V-shaped _something_ on its forehead giving the alarming impression of horns. "Good to know we didn't deactivate you, but don't do that again. Do you have any idea what it takes to support organic life?"

An odd little sound, akin to a hiccup, caught in Evelyn's throat as she stared up at the unfamiliar giant, and she froze, one arm still poised to shade her eyes.

_Oh, God. _

The second voice drifted over from somewhere beyond her field of vision. "Maybe it ain't online yet."

The V-topped head tilted slightly to look toward the other voice. "The _hold still_ is still in effect. _Lie down."_

"Yessir."

One large red finger swept in from the side, gently nudging at her upheld arm, and the world blurred in a kaleidoscope of red metal and white light and gray _everything_ as she scrambled gracelessly away in a humorless parody of that night in the parking lot with the red-eyed giant. Her back and shoulders slammed into something cold and hard, halting her escape, and her breath escaped in an incredulous squeak.

Like most children, she had found her fair share of orphaned kittens and injured wildlife to bring home to her parents, and like most parents, hers had settled the waifs in towel-lined cardboard boxes until, one way or another, they were ready to move on.

_I hate irony._

She was in a box, a shallow metal box, with some sort of thick, coarsely woven fabric lining the bottom. The room was cavernously huge, and the box sat on one of several house-sized tables lined side-by-side, shelves all around, alien equipment dangling from the ceilings and lining the walls. A second robot lay on the next table over, white and black and looking on in interest.

The V-bearing robot squinted down at her with a look of bemusement bordering on irritation, but his attention was diverted as one of the wall panels on the far side of the room slid aside, admitting three more robots with a chorus of thunderous steps. The tallest, blue and red, was flanked by two shorter robots, one large and red, the other white with black accents, two panels showing over his shoulders like stumpy wings.

"Quite a few mechs have been waiting to talk to you," said the red and white robot with a glance down at her. He nodded at the newcomers. "Prime. Prowl. Ironhide."

"Thank you for the call," said the tallest of the trio.

"H'ain't never hearda' nothin' like this before, Prahm," grumbled the large, red robot. The broad accent smeared the being's vowels and consonants sloppily, and Evelyn shivered at the similarity to accents of the deep South.

"We'll see." A blue and red robot, the lower half of its face obscured by some sort of mask, drew closer to Evelyn's box, flanked by his two companions, and with each step, the robot grew taller... and taller... and taller...

"Mirage had quite a story to tell." Blue eyes peered down at her curiously. The being's voice was deeply resonant and strangely mellow. "He tells me that you claim to be an Autobot, and you call yourself Sideswipe. You can understand my doubts, I'm certain."

There was a long moment of silence while glowing blue eyes examined her dirt-smeared frame.

"I..." She wet her lips and swallowed. Her ribs seemed to vibrate from the force of her racing heart. Red faces stared sternly at her from four chests. "I... I'm n-not."

Four sets of blue eyes narrowed, and the red and blue robot asked, "You're not... an Autobot?"

The white and black robot spoke up, voice quiet, each word formed clearly and precisely. "Our records confirm that Sideswipe was an Autobot soldier."

"I'm not Sideswipe," she said quietly, voice cracking, hands clenching and unclenching in the rough fabric beneath her, the side of the box a strangely reassuring pressure against her shoulders. "I'm _not."_

The blue and red robot tilted its head. "Why would you say you were?"

"I _didn't."_ She swallowed, peering up at the assembly of giants and feeling as though they grew even taller as she looked at them. Evelyn couldn't do anything more than shake her head. Her tongue seemed to be three times its normal size, breath rasping in her throat.

"Mirage wouldn't lie," said the boxy red robot with a glare that made Evelyn want to curl in on herself and hide, and the winged robot's expression, while not hostile, was not friendly at all, and without being able to see his face, she was at a loss to judge the tallest robot's mood. She looked toward the fourth giant.

The red and white robot crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head and gazing down at her with a put-upon expression so reminiscent of Jamie that Evelyn could not help but giggle, the noise echoingly absurdly in the open room. The towering red and blue robot and the stumpy-winged robot exchanged glances, and there was a general chorus of uncertain shufflings and shiftings. She clapped one hand over her mouth to muffle the noise, her stomach churning and head pounding, but the laughter took on a hysterical tinge, and suddenly there was hot liquid dripping down her cheeks and trickling over the back of her hand.

"I-I'm go-going to _k-k-kill_ him," she hiccupped, swiping at the tears with one hand as the other clenched around a handful of the coarse fabric of the 'nest'. "I _t-told_ him no. I didn't w-want to... g-g-go. I'm going to _m-m-murder_ that... th-that... s-stupid, selfish _b-b-bastard."_

The red and white robot's mildly irritated expression had morphed into darkly irate, and he sent a narrow glance at the large red and blue robot. "All right," he growled, "everyone out! That means _everyone,_ Prime. You too, Jazz."

On the next table over, the black and white robot sat up. "But what about—"

"For Primus' sake, I was down to cosmetic work anyway. Go see Grapple and Hoist. The rest of you, scat!"

The white and red robot, easily one of the smaller robots in the room, herded and shoved and grumbled and snarled as he pressed the gathering toward the doorway. With one final push between the large red robot's shoulders, he hit a panel beside the doorway, and two gleaming metal doors slid obediently into place.

Evelyn drew in a shaky breath, scrubbing at her moist cheeks, but one glance at the gigantic metal tables and the alien instruments laid out neatly on a shelf prompted new tears.

Loud, metal footsteps vibrated the floor, and something large and white loomed over the table.

"All right." There was a long moment of silence, broken only by Evelyn's snuffling and the inner whirring, humming workings of the robot. "Obviously, a lot of our assumptions were wrong."

Evelyn resisted the urge to snort. _Really?_

_Oh, God. Please, _please,_ just go away._

"I don't know what to do for you. Is this normal for your species? Are you malfunctioning?"

_Hah._

"N-not a malfunction." She swallowed thickly. "I am _upset._ I c-cry when I'm upset. _Please,_ just _leave."_

The robot made an odd-sounding rumble, and one large red hand appeared on the table beside the 'nest' with a _klang,_ startling Evelyn into looking up at the giant. "You're new. I'll give you some leeway, but let's have introductions."

Evelyn stared up at the silver face, topped with the severe black V that merely accented the robot's glare.

"Call me Ratchet. I'm the Chief Medical Officer of this unit. This—" He tilted his head to indicate the expansive room around them. "—is the medbay. My medbay, to be precise." He bent slightly, bringing his face closer to her level. "_Don't_ order me around in _my_ medbay. Clear?"

Stricken dumb in sheer surprise, Evelyn nodded.

"Good." In an abrupt about-face, the robot quirked his lips in the smallest of smiles. "Now, what should I call you?"

"Ah..." She blinked. Her voice was scratchy when she replied, meekly, "Evelyn."

"Evelyn. Interesting name. Now, Evelyn, I understand your species is from the third planet of a system that we know as zeta-4897. What would you call it?"

"... E-Earth. Th-the planet's name is Earth." She hesitated, but the robot regarded her with no hint of impatience, and she added, "The system... It's normally just called the solar system, but I think the real name is Sol. The galaxy is the Milky Way... if that counts for anything."

"Earth, Sol, and Milky Way." The robot's eyes flickered the way the blue and white robot's had back in the woods. "And what would you call your species?"

"Humans. Homo sapiens."

"And does your species trade genetic material to reproduce?"

"I—W-what does _that_ have to do with anything?"

"To classify you. Organic species come in several kinds," said the robot. "One: asexual. Easy. Call anyone a _him_ and you're prime. Two: bisexual. Relatively easy, once you figure out the distinguishing traits, not that different from mechs and femmes, though that's a different bucket of bolts altogether. Three: tri- and quadri-sexual and up, and that's when things get difficult, _hims, hers, shims, heems... _Enough to put a kink in anyone's cortex. Now, which are you?"

Her face felt oddly warm. "We're... I... The second one. Male and female. Hims and shes... hers. I don't—"

"And you are a...?"

"Female. A woman. A she."

"Good. That wasn't difficult, was it? Now, you need to tell me if anything feels wrong... temperature, pressure, anything. My job is to keep you online and in working order, understand?"

_Alive and healthy,_ she translated absently with a nod.

The robot considered her for a long moment. "You obviously have quite a story to tell."

This time, she _did_ snort.

"Quite a story," repeated the robot, eyes narrowed. "We were operating under the assumption that you were familiar with Autobots, and you aren't, are you?"

Her shoulders twitched in an aborted shrug. "A... little."

"How little?"

Evelyn met the giant's gaze, and with an 'eat the poison, eat the plate' attitude, she told him.

Everything.

* * *

At the end of her tale, the red and white robot bore an expression reminiscent of a thundercloud about to unleash holy fury. There was a long moment where the robot stood silently and Evelyn plucked absently at the dried mud caking her shirt and jeans.

"First," said the robot, "I would like to tell you that we have extremely specific laws about first contact and the protection of new cultures. This shouldn't have happened."

Evelyn nodded.

"Second: you mentioned that Sunstreaker knew the location of Sideswipe's body?"

"Yes."

"I'll have Ironhide question him about it. Hopefully he managed to bring it from your planet somehow." His eyes dimmed and flickered in that modem-like way. "If not, you're in for quite a wait until the Decepticons clear this sector."

Evelyn's heart gave an odd little skip before plummeting into her stomach. _There's no way he could carry something like that with him.  
_

"But for now, we need to see to you."

Evelyn blinked. "'See to me'?" she asked warily.

"Atmosphere is just the beginning," said the robot. "Sustenance, shelter, social needs... Organics have a lot of requirements. Lucky for you, we have someone on board who enjoys challenges."

The door hissed open once more, startling Evelyn badly. Yet another strange robot entered, this one mostly white with strange rounded projections mounted on either side of his head.

"You called?" asked the newcomer. The 'ears' flashed in synch with the words.

The white and red robot made the introductions. "Evelyn, this is Wheeljack, our resident engineer and inventor. Wheeljack, this is Evelyn, a human femme that arrived with Mirage. Our new project."

"Human?" The new robot stared down at Evelyn even as she stared at the cheerily blinking lights mounted on either side of his head. "Fascinating."

_Took the words right out of my mouth._

* * *

**End Chapter Ten**


	12. Awkward

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, woman in her underthings (I promised as much realism as possible, and this is the result), and use of the word 'porn'

**Author Notes:** Several people have asked whether or not I am drawing inspiration from the IDW Transformers universe for this story. The answer is no. I didn't even know what IDW stood for until someone mentioned it in a review... but now I want to get all of the issues and read my geeky little heart out. :D

Also, I'd like to take the opportunity to point out that this is an extremely warped version of all previous Transformers series, and I'm operating on G1 knowledge and G2 research (since they took Toongod off of YouTube, Primus frag it...). So, if I mention Unicron, Primus, Galvatron, etc., it would probably be safe to assume there's some tweaking from their canon universe selves. Savvy?

Now, on to the story... and my theories on Transformers technology. Bear with me, hmm?

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Eleven**

* * *

_When I was six, I dove into a pool and my trunks came off. God, I wish I was there right now._**  
**_**– Malcolm, **__**Malcolm in the Middle**_

* * *

Evelyn eyed the cup of water dubiously. 

_Well... more like a cube, really._

The container was slightly smaller in diameter than one of those plastic children's pools that were always on display at Wal-Mart during the summer months, the sides coming up to mid-thigh, filled to within six inches of the brim with water, rippling and shining in the bright lights. She glanced up at her current chaperone and benefactor, Wheeljack, who stood beside 'her' table, and then back down at the water.

"Would you mind... turning around?"

The robot tilted his head, and the lights mounted on either side of his head blinked brightly as he asked, "What for?"

"It's a... human thing. Please?"

After a moment, the robot turned its back obligingly, feet clanging and booming on the metal floor. Evelyn reached for the hem of her shirt and then hesitated.

"Promise me you won't look?"

"If you don't want me to," he replied with an _Is there a reason I should?_ sort of tone.

"Trust me. I don't." She stripped off the stained, mud-encrusted shirt and dropped it onto the table, wishing not for the first time that she had thought to don a watch that morning. It felt as though mere hours had passed since her awakening, but the steady lighting and enclosed space made it impossible to judge time.

More carefully, she peeled the snug beige fabric of the medical glove down her arm inch by inch, baring the pale, web-like scar tissue that twined and curled around her arm from palm to shoulder like little white vines. She rubbed lightly at the skin, feeling the uneven, slick scars mingled with the rougher, healthy skin, but the examination produced no discomfort, and there was no inflammation.

Feeling as though the _Mission: Impossible_ theme would not have been out of place, she hurriedly stripped down to her underthings and, dipping one of her socks in the water, began to scrub at the patches of filth dried onto her skin. The water was mere degrees shy of lukewarm, little dribbles trickling down her skin, spreading waves of goosebumps in their wakes. She wiped carefully over the healing bruises and scabs of the past several days' adventures before squeezing the excess water out of the sock, grimacing at the murky brown-black liquid that trickled back into the container.

_Just like when the showers broke at grammar camp in the sixth grade... except with bruises instead of poison oak._

_God, what a memory._

The voice had yet to return, remaining as a low, jumbled murmur at the back of her mind. Evelyn was torn between contentment that her body was, for the moment, _her_ body and impatience for the voice to return so that she could tell it _exactly_ what she thought about its actions.

She glanced up at the white and dark gray metal of the robot Wheeljack who, true to his word, had not moved so much as a centimeter.

_Giant alien robots, _she thought, feeling as though something in her mind should pop and fizzle at the very idea. She glanced over at her mud-stained duffel bag and the (relatively) clean clothing folded beside it, returned to her by Ratchet before he had left for parts unknown. _Nice, gentlemanly giant alien robots._

"Did... did Ratchet say when he'd be back?"

"No." Wheeljack shifted slightly, interior workings humming and creaking. "He's downloading the logs from the shuttle to see what information we have on your species. Do you need something?"

"No, thank you." Evelyn ran one hand through her hair, feeling the gritty detritus caught in the tangled strands. _Shampoo, shampoo, my kingdom for shampoo,_ she thought unhappily. She eyed the water thoughtfully _(A quick rinse, maybe?)_ before sighing, pulling her hair forward over her shoulder, and setting about the laborious task of combing through it with her fingers, bits of dirt and leaves falling onto the gleaming tabletop. "What sort of information?"

"All Autobot shuttles are outfitted for exploration. There are programs that run all the time, recording their surroundings. Mirage mentioned your planet had a global information network, and we're thinking that the shuttle might have downloaded a lot of data that could help us."

"Internet," said Evelyn.

"What?"

"The information network: it's called the internet." She separated a knotted clump of hair from the rest and plucked at it with her fingernails, working away at the tangle.

"Fascinating."

Evelyn blinked and smiled slightly at the towering being. _He likes that word, I think. _

The last of the major tangles gave way, and she sighed in relief. Raking her fingers through her hair, she thought, _Note: shampoo, hairbrush, and deodorant to be added to all future survival kits._

She rubbed at the lingering damp patches on her skin, grimacing as she realized certain things would be longer drying. _And an extra bra. _

The doorway slid open with a hiss.

For the first time in her life, Evelyn truly understood the 'deer in headlights' saying as she stared at the familiar red and white form of Ratchet as the robot strode into the room, arms filled with stacks of flat gray panels. Blue eyes flicked from Wheeljack to Evelyn and narrowed.

With an undignified squeak, she dropped behind the only cover available, the water container, and grabbed the nearest article of clothing, her mud-encrusted jeans, clamping them to her chest.

A clamor of footsteps rang through the air as Ratchet moved closer.

"Well, don't _look!"_ she snapped indignantly, blushing. "Turn around!"

"Don't short your circuits," replied the medic, peering at her. "Show me your arm."

Wheeljack had turned to face the table again, and Evelyn found herself the focus of two sets of glowing blue eyes. Huffing through her nose and holding her jeans tightly to her chest with one arm, she held out her scarred arm.

"Are those normal human markings?" asked Wheeljack.

Ratchet answered before Evelyn could.

"No," he said. "Scar tissue, like weld marks before repainting. Recent?"

"From the car accident," she said.

"Hmm." He continued past her table to set down his burden with a clatter of metal on metal atop the counter that ran the length of the wall. "Have a look through these, 'Jack." The white and red robot glanced over its shoulder at her, expression curious. "Is your planet _completely_ obsessed with reproduction?"

Evelyn's skin felt warm enough to glow in the dark. "What?"

The robot picked up one of the panels, the size of a standard notebook to him, the size of a king-sized mattress to her, and showed her the screen on the panel's side... a screen filled with the image of a man... and a woman...

"Ack!" She raised one hand to shield her eyes and turned her head away, blush increasing tenfold. "Put that away, or... burn it... delete it. Whatever! Christ!"

_Porn! Their first venture into Earth culture, and they find porn!_

The two robots exchanged glances. The medic hit a button at the bottom of the panel, and the image winked out of existence. Wheeljack joined Ratchet beside the stacked panels, and Evelyn eyed the pair suspiciously, lowering her hand, but neither showed any interest in turning away from the gray squares of metal, though if they conversed it was too low for her to hear. She reached for the blouse and slacks folded beside the duffel bag and pulled them toward her. Casting one last look toward the two giants, she pulled on her clothing in record time.

She hesitated a moment over the medical glove. It was dirty and encrusted with dried mud. She dipped it in the cube of water and scrubbed it between her hands, then pulled it out and wrung the excess water from it, laying it out beside her duffel bag to dry. She quickly did the same to the dirty shirt and jeans, though it made little difference in the stains.

_Oh, well... I never really wore these jeans, anyway._

"How long can your species go without fuel?"

It took a moment before it registered that Ratchet was speaking to her. She blinked up at the robot. "Pardon?"

"Fuel. Sustenance. How long can you go without?"

_That is _not_ reassuring._

_Wait, what's that rule Dick told me? The... the Rule of Threes._

"Three minutes without air," she said. "Three days without water. Three weeks without food." She paused, stomach lurching. "But that's how long it takes me to fall into a coma and die, so it would be really bad to stretch it that long, I think."

"Noted," said the medic. "Wheeljack?"

"It will take some time to go over all of this and get the balance right. Eight joors? Maybe nine?"

"A little over two human days."

Evelyn glanced between the two robots. _Two days? _"I... I have a few granola bars and some water to tide me over."

Wheeljack seemed to stand taller, eyes shining brighter in interest. "You brought fuel with you? What—" He broke off, and both his and Ratchet's eyes dimmed and flickered a familiar way.

Evelyn frowned, but the silence lasted less than a minute, and both the robots looked down at her, seeming to weigh her.

"Evelyn," said Ratchet, "our commanding officer would like to speak with you, if you're willing."

Evelyn's heart gave a little hop-skip, bouncing off her ribs. "The... big one? From before?"

"And one other," said the medic. He tilted his head, silver lips quirking in a little grin. "They won't hurt you, you know."

Wheeljack's internal systems gave a little rumble. "They're certainly less violent than Ratchet here."

Evelyn glanced toward the white and red robot, but he did not deny the statement. The pair seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"S-sure." She drew in a deep breath and managed a small smile. "Maybe this time I can avoid turning on the waterworks, hm?"

* * *

"All right there, Evelyn?" 

Seated on the robot's palm, the woman gripped his thumb for balance, trying valiantly not to channel her niece Jessica and yell 'Let me down! I can walk! Let me down!'

"Fine," she said. _God, my voice really _does_ squeak when I lie..._ "How much further?"

"It's quite a ways to the office section, down past the labs and storage bays. You're lucky it isn't shift change and that we're not on a dormitory or recreation deck; the hallways would be full, and then it'd take twice as long."

"There are that many of you?"

"Quarters are kind of cramped here. Still, it could be worse. As ships go, Metellus is pretty spacious."

"So, it _is _a ship." Evelyn glanced down the seemingly endless hallway as it disappeared around a shallow curve. "I wasn't sure."

"Metellus Cursor, one of the best. Just don't stand in doorways, and you'll be fine."

_Doorways? _"What does that have to do with anything?"

Wheeljack said, as though it should be obvious, "It's rude."

Evelyn's brain attempted to mold itself around that logic. "Oh."

"We have a breem or so until we get to Prime's office. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

"Hm? Me?" She shrugged slightly. "Ah... There's not much to tell. I'm a professor at a local college."

"An educator?" The being's eyes seemed to glow brighter. "What do you teach?"

Evelyn tried her very best not to look down at the metal floor so far below. "Wait... You mean you have teachers? I thought... Well, you're robots. Wouldn't you just download any information you want?"

"First, 'robot' refers to a non-sentient drone. The correct term is 'mech'. As for downloads, it simply isn't possible. There's no data storage system we can build for a mech to store all the technical data we use along with memory files and still have enough room for our operating programs to run. I could download information into my databanks, but it would take up space, and sooner or later I'd have to delete it to make room for different files."

"Then you'd forget it, and what good is that?"

The robot's 'ears' flashed. "That's where formed-energy comes in. Are you familiar with it?" He sounded vaguely hopeful.

Evelyn shook her head.

The hope disappeared like a popped bubble. "Well, it's something of a mystery to us, too. All examples we have are from before the first Golden Age... over eleven-thousand megavorns ago."

"You do know that I have no idea how long eleven-thousand megavorns is, right?"

The robot _(mech) _glanced at her out of the corner of one glowing blue eye. "Before your planet formed."

Evelyn blinked, something in her mind sizzling and shorting out. "Ah. That long."

Wheeljack's interior systems gave a little rumble. "Quite a long time, even for Cybertronians. Erm... where was I?"

"Energy?"

"Right! Formed-energy. Sometimes it's called wrought-energy. Well, you have water and ice and steam on your planet, right? Same thing, only with energy."

Evelyn's brain made a sound amazingly similar to _Eh?_

Wheeljack continued his explanation. "Vapor: ambient energy in all matter, scattered everywhere. Then liquid: visible, condensed energy, plasma and energon and the like. Have you seen energon yet? Remind me to show you. It's our main energy source. Well, then there's solid: formed-energy, energy so condensed that it can hold shape on its own. Even if its structure is warped or bent, it will return to its original shape. Most have some rudimentary form of sentience."

The scientist/inventor paused and glanced toward Evelyn, but the woman merely nodded, following the analogy as well as she was able.

"The best example of formed-energy is a Cybertronian's spark, the source of energy within any Cybertronian's laser core."

Something clicked in her mind. "Sideswipe said something... said that his spark was in me."

"That's right. A spark is what makes us who we are. A computer on Cybertron produces the sparks with base programming and personality matrices, and then the sparks are installed in host bodies. As the mech gains experience, memories are stored as temporary information files in the databanks, but over time the spark changes and assimilates information, and the obsolete data is deleted from the databanks. Compute?"

"Humans have something like that," said Evelyn. "Not the energy part, but we have what we call long-term and short-term memory. It's been a while since my psych classes, but I think... How does it go again? Short-term memory stores a certain number of bits of information, like things you've just seen or a thought you've just had. It doesn't hold them long, less than thirty seconds, and either they're converted to long-term memory or they're forgotten. Long-term memory holds information indefinitely, like childhood memories or things we're taught in school like math or writing."

"Fascinating," said the robot again. "But we've gotten far off-subject. You were telling me that you are an educator. What do you teach?"

"Linguistics. It's the study of language and the comparison and contrast of various languages. There's syntax and grammar and semantics, morphology, phonology, phonetics and... and... and you have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?"

Wheeljack made that odd rumble sound again _(A laugh? _she wondered.) and said, "No, not really."

"Basically, it's everything about how people talk. How we form words, how we learn to speak, how we process hearing words, sentence structures, common sounds in a language, and common patterns between languages."

"You have many languages on your planet?"

"Thousands. Don't you have different languages?"

"Different dialects, yes, but not completely separate languages. There are different processing codes, but those aren't spoken. Do you know all of your planet's languages?"

"Oh, good Lord, no. English is my first, and I've been working my way through several more. I'm currently trying to learn Mandarin, but I haven't been studying as much as I should."

"Do many humans learn separate languages?"

"Most are at least bilingual. I'm up to..." She frowned, counting under her breath. "... Eight. Maybe nine, though my Hindi is rusty. It's a hobby."

"Would you be willing to show me?" He sounded genuinely interested, bringing a smile to Evelyn's face.

"Sure. It would be good practice."

"I look forward to it." He slowed and came to a halt beside one of the many gleaming metal doorways. "It will have to be later, though. Here we are."

Her smile disappeared, and the door hissed open.

_Oh, Lord, he's bigger than I remember._

Somewhere beneath her brain's useless sputtering, that rebellious corner of her mind reared its ugly head and snickered. _What do you know? Giant alien robots have desks, too._

The blue and red robot stood behind a giant metal desk, looking at something incomprehensible to Evelyn shown upon a huge screen taking up most of the room's back wall. Beside him, the white and black robot from earlier stood, also looking at the screen. Both turned as Wheeljack entered.

"Thank you, Wheeljack."

"Sure thing, Prime." The scientist walked a few steps closer, placing his hand within a few feet of the desk's top. "There you go, Evelyn."

Evelyn looked from the towering blue and red robot and the expressionless face of the white and black robot. She stood carefully, using Wheeljack's thumb as support, and stepped down, thigh muscle aching resentfully. When the gray metal hand pulled away, Evelyn found that she wanted to hold on.

"We'll see that she gets back," said the blue and red robot.

"I'll be getting back to the lab, then," said Wheeljack. "See you in a bit, Evelyn."

She watched the robot leave, feeling as though she were four years old again, watching her mother's car pull away from her elementary school. The door slid shut, sealing her in, and she turned reluctantly to face the two strangers.

The blue and red giant spoke. "Ratchet informs me that he and Wheeljack are well on the way to producing a suitable habitat for you."

Evelyn nodded, trying very hard not to fidget. _What do you say to that? "Thank you"? "It's no Earth, but I appreciate the effort"?_

"He also tells me that you are here against your will." The robot's eyes dimmed slightly. "I am very sorry for that. We will do all we can to return you to your planet."

"Th-thank you."

The robot tilted its head, eyes gleaming, and for no reason at all, Evelyn was under the impression that he was smiling.

"And he also has told me that your name is Evelyn."

Another nod.

"Well, Evelyn, before we get into explanations, let me make the introductions. This is my second in command, Prowl, our resident tactician. You may remember him from earlier." He gestured at the white and black robot with the not-quite-wings, who nodded. "And my name is Optimus Prime."

"Pleased to meet you," said Evelyn with a nod of her own.

_Thank you, thank you, Mama, for teaching me manners._

* * *

**End Chapter Eleven**


	13. Chill

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, woman in her underthings (I promised as much realism as possible, and this is the result), and use of the word 'porn'

**Author Notes:** To get some special thank-yous and questions out of the way: **Iacitar13**- Thank you, thank you for that link! You have no idea how much help that was. **Kiashi Goldbeak 501**- Thank you for pointing me toward that music video. It was wonderful inspiration, and I had to go out and hunt down that song immediately. It's one of my new favorites. **TJ**- The IDW universe is a comic-book series that differs quite a bit from the G1 cartoon. I haven't read it, but I've heard good things.

To everyone else who reviewed, thank you, thank you many times over. If you have a question that I didn't answer, I apologize, but bear with the story. Most answers will be revealed in time.

And on to Chapter Twelve.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twelve**

* * *

_The figure was completely unrecognizable as the wild-looking creature who had burst crazily into the cottage a little over an hour ago. Gone was the ragged threadbare dressing gown, smeared with the mud of a hundred worlds, stained with junk food condiment from a hundred grimy spaceports, gone was the tangled mane of hair, gone the long and knotted beard, flourishing ecosystem and all. Instead, there was Arthur Dent the smooth and casual, in corduroys and a chunky sweater. His hair was cropped and washed, his chin clean shaven. Only the eyes still said that whatever it was the Universe thought it was doing to him, he would still like it please to stop.  
**- **__**So Long and Thanks For All The Fish**__**, Douglas Adams**_

* * *

"Incredible." Seated upon the metal surface of the desk, Evelyn stared up at the image upon the screen of the gleaming, silver planet slowly rotating against the starry black of space. "That's your home?" 

"Yes. Cybertron." The blue and red giant sounded vaguely sad as he said this. Evelyn tore her gaze away from the mesmerizing sight of the alien planet to look toward him.

"You miss it?" she asked.

"Very much. We have been away from it for a long, long time."

She looked back at the planet. The surface was not blank and featureless. Rather, it resembled Earth in that there were sections of smooth, shining metal and sections that were rough and dark.

_Continents and oceans,_ she thought. _But without the water._

"Autobots, Decepticons, and Neutrals," she said. Both mechs' eyes seemed to glow brighter in interest. "Sideswipe told me. He said that Autobots and Decepticons are at war. And Ratchet and Wheeljack called you their commanding officer." When Optimus Prime nodded, she continued, "This is a military ship, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you've been away from your planet for so long? You've been away fighting in the war?"

"Cybertron is... no longer ours," said the larger mech.

_There's that sadness again._

"Decepticon forces overtook the planet nearly seventy-two megavorns ago. We've been fighting to regain it ever since."

She looked at the image of the planet with new eyes. _Seventy-two... megavorns? How long is a megavorn? Even seventy-two _years_ would be... unbearable._

"I'm so sorry."

"I know that you would like to return to your planet as soon as possible," said Optimus, "but there are extenuating circumstances. We cannot currently take such a risk."

"We are being followed by a group of Decepticon shuttles. We are attempting to draw them away from your system," explained the white and black mech. "We cannot return to your planet before we deal with them, or they could reveal your planet's existence to the rest of the Decepticon forces."

"What would they want with Earth?"

Optimus looked grave. "Your planet is one of the richest in natural resources that we have ever come across. Should the Decepticons discover it, they would do all in their power to ensure those resources were theirs."

Images from her high school ecology courses flitted through Evelyn's mind: fallen trees, smoke-streaked skies, and the ravaged landscape of a strip-mined forest.

"We are doing all that we can to prevent that," Optimus reassured her.

She nodded numbly.

"**Ahrnhide t' Optimus."**

Evelyn jumped in surprise as the familiar not-quite-Southern voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

The blue and red giant answered. "Optimus here. What is it, Ironhide?"

"**Might wanna' come down t' the brig. New guy's actin' up ag'in."**

The large mech glanced down at Evelyn, and then said, "I thought we had moved him to the dormitories."

"**... Ah... Yeah. He had a run-in w' Gears. Trailbreaker 'n' Hound took care a' it before it was anythin' but dents and scrapes, but Gears prolly won' be doin' summat like that ag'in anytime soon."**

"He's _back_ in the brig?" asked Optimus grimly. "What about the information Ratchet requested?"

"**Sez he wants t' see his brother b'fore he'll say anythin'."**

"I see. Thank you, Ironhide. Prime out." The mech made a sound startlingly akin to a sigh, though it came from somewhere in his torso rather than his mouth. "I'm sorry about that. We've been avoiding using the shipwide comm in the medbay while you were... acclimating. I didn't think to disable it in here."

Evelyn grinned sheepishly. "That's all right. It's just like being in a _Star Trek_ episode."

The mech nodded. Prowl's engine gave a rumble, attracting the larger mech's attention.

"_Back_ in the brig?" asked the white and black mech, blue eyes slightly narrowed. "He's been here less than two joors."

"I take it you'll want to handle the disciplinary actions?"

"Yes."

"Very well." Optimus Prime looked back at Evelyn. "That's another reason I wanted to speak with you. I'd like for you to talk with Sunstreaker. He's been extremely aggressive to others on board since he came back online, and you and Sideswipe are the only ones who knew him before we found you."

Evelyn pictured the giant yellow mech, surly scowl firmly in place on the silver features, and wondered how exactly the rendezvous in the forest had ended. "He hasn't hurt anyone, has he?"

"Not yet."

"Oh." Evelyn frowned. "Ah... That's not aggressive. I think that's just Sunstreaker."

"This is normal behavior?" asked Prowl.

"I saw what he did to the cars... well, they were Decepticons, weren't they?" _You're rambling,_ she scolded herself. "I saw what he did to the Decepticons on Earth. If he were really peeved, I don't think it would be just dents and scrapes."

The two mechs exchanged glances.

"Probably true," conceded Optimus. "Even so, on a ship, even one as large as Metellus, violence between allies cannot be allowed. Would you be willing to speak with him?"

"I don't see how it would make a difference. He doesn't like me much, either."

"Even so," said Prowl, "seeing that you are online and functioning might calm him."

"... If you think it would help._  
_

* * *

_Oh, my goodness._

Once more, she found herself cupped in a giant metal hand, but unlike sitting on Wheeljack's palm (slightly smaller than a Jacuzzi tub area-wise), being carried by Optimus was like sitting on her parent's dining-room table, hemmed in by metal fingers thicker than her thigh. Accordingly, she was also that much further away from the floor. She could see bits and pieces of the passing scenery through the gaps between the fingers: gray walls and branching corridors, white light gleaming off the shining surfaces, even two or three strange mechs who passed with respectful greetings to Optimus Prime and Prowl and curious glances toward her.

As they stepped into what appeared to be an elevator larger than Mason's city hall, spacious enough to comfortably contain several of the giant mechs, Evelyn craned her neck, trying unsuccessfully to peer around the red bulk of Optimus' chest and back down the hallway. _Was that... a midget-bot?_

Her transport and his escort both turned around to face the hallway, but before Evelyn could see anything beyond a smudge of yellow, the door slid shut and her stomach lurched at the familiar not-quite-falling sensation as the room began to move.

Evelyn took a moment to wonder at the feeling of being in an elevator and not feeling the slightest touch of claustrophobia. _Of course, it's kind of hard to think of a four-story box as 'cramped'._

"Would you be interested in meeting the rest of our group?"

She turned and canted her head back to look up at the larger mech's masked face. "Pardon?"

"It seems as though you might be with us for an orn or so. Perhaps longer. I can't imagine you remaining in the medbay for the entire time. We have a recreation room."

"Such as it is," Prowl contributed.

Evelyn glanced at the white and black mech, but his face was as composed and expressionless as ever. "Well... first of all, I'd like to know how long an 'orn' is. And breems and... joons?"

"Joors," corrected Optimus. "I don't know how to convert to your time units."

"What is your base time unit?" asked Prowl.

"Base time..." Evelyn steadied herself with one hand on Optimus' palm as the elevator slowed and stopped. "Ah, seconds. Sixty seconds to a minute. Sixty minutes to an hour. Twenty-four hours to a day. Seven days to a week. Three-hundred and sixty-five days to a year... actually three-hundred sixty-five and a quarter, if you want to be technical."

The door slid open, and a wave of cold air swirled into the room. Goosebumps spread over her body as she hunched lower in the giant hand, and the mechs started down a hallway that seemed nearly identical to the one they had just left.

"—lyn? Evelyn? Are you malfunctioning?"

She looked up at two pairs of glowing blue eyes. "I—fine. Did you say something?"

"I asked, how long is a second?"

She blinked stupidly for a moment. "Seconds...? Oh. It's..." She pondered for a moment. She raised one hand and tapped her finger rhythmically against Optimus' palm. The metal suddenly felt oddly warm in the ambient chill. "One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three Mississippi, four Mississippi... Those are seconds."

Prowl nodded. "We have breems, joors, orns, and vorns. Judging by a 'second'... A breem would be slightly over eight of your minutes. A joor is six hours and thirty seven minutes. An orn is thirteen days, and a vorn is eighty-three of your years."

_I'm never going to remember that._ Her doubts aside, she repeated the alien terms dutifully, "Breems, joors, orns, and vorns."

"What is a 'mississippi'?" asked Optimus. "Another time unit?"

"Mississippi is the name of a state, a section of land." She wrapped her arms around her middle and shivered. "I don't know why you count with Mississippi. That's just how I learned to measure seconds."

_Good lord, it can't really be this cold._

The two mechs turned down a side corridor. They stopped at a doorway, and Prowl typed something into the keypad on the wall, prompting the doors to slide out of the way. Abruptly, the air was filled with bickering voices.

"—virus-infested, rusting piece of Pit-spawn—"

"—go interface with an electromagnet, you scrap-heap reject—"

The two mechs exchanged a glance.

After passing through a short corridor, they entered a round room with a sort of workstation set at the center. Small rooms, cells, branched off from the main room like spokes from a wheel. Two mechs stood in the room, one the broad-shouldered, mostly red model from earlier, the other vaguely familiar, painted black and white. A tray of the kiddy-pool sized cube containers sat atop the workstation, filled with glowing pink liquid.

_Pink?_ thought Evelyn curiously.

Two of the cells were cordoned off by glowing bars of energy. One held the black and red form of the Decepticon Torque. The other held the imposing golden mech Sunstreaker, stretched out on a bunk, eyes dark.

They were the source of the voices.

"Go wax yourself with a power-grinder."

"Eat scrap and deactivate."

To Evelyn's surprise, Prowl and Optimus ignored the strange repartee between the captives. Optimus turned toward the black and white mech.

"Jazz?" Optimus sounded curious. "I thought you were on the recovery list."

The black and white mech grinned. His eyes were hidden behind a blue visor. "Jus' droppin' off a pick-me-up fer Ironhide 'n' our two guests. Red's gettin' fuel 'n' a show, though, lucky guy."

"Have they been doing this long?" inquired Prowl, raising his voice slightly to be heard as the insults continued.

"—secondhand processing chip—"

"—short-circuited motherboard—"

"'Bout a breem," grumbled the red giant. "Told 'em t' shut it. Didn't listen."

"So I see," said Optimus. "Sunstreaker," called the red and blue mech.

The steady stream of insults faltered and died away. The yellow mech's eyes flickered and slowly brightened to their normal pale blue, his head turning to face the cell door. His gaze went immediately to Evelyn.

"You wanted to see your brother," said Optimus.

"That's not my brother," said Sunstreaker.

Evelyn huffed in irritation. "It's as close as you're getting for the moment. Believe me, I have a few things to tell him, too."

The yellow giant considered her. "They said you were on board," said the mech. "Didn't know you had it in you."

"It's not as though I planned this trip," she said moodily, hunching her shoulders against the chill. "Your brother body-napped me."

Pale blue eyes regarded her, silver lips twisted in a condescending smirk. "Maybe you should have fought harder."

"Sunstreaker." Optimus regained the mech's attention. "Where is Sideswipe's shell?"

"Let me out, and I'll tell you."

Prowl's internal systems revved quietly. "Tell us, and we'll let you out," he countered.

The yellow giant pushed himself to a sitting position and rose to his feet, servos whirring and humming, feet thudding dully against the metal floor as he walked to the cell entrance. "Earth."

Evelyn's heart sank. _I knew it._

"Where on Earth?"

"At our shuttle, in the repair bay." The mech cocked his head and looked meaningfully at the glowing bars blocking the entrance.

"Let him out, Ironhide," said Optimus.

The red mech pressed a series of keys on the workstation, and the energy bars faded.

Evelyn rubbed her hands over her arms. _Well... So much for wishful thinking._

The yellow mech stepped out of the cell.

"Sunstreaker." Optimus Prime's voice rang with authority, quite a change from the quiet, coaxing tones to which Evelyn was accustomed, causing her to jump slightly. "While you wear that insignia, you will follow the Autobot laws, and while you are on this ship, you will abide by mine. Is that understood?"

Sunstreaker met the commander's gaze with that same lazy arrogance. "Understood. Sir."

Optimus' eyes narrowed. "You'll report to Prowl for your punishment detail after shift change. Until then, you will report to the quarters you were assigned, and there will be no more brawling on board this ship or you will find yourself back in that cell, and you won't be getting out for a long time. Understood?"

Her nose was numb. Experimentally, Evelyn blew a gust of breath from her mouth, watching with morbid fascination as it misted in the air.

"Yes, sir."

"Dismissed."

There was a moment when Sunstreaker did not move, eyes shifting from Optimus to Ironhide to Evelyn. Engine rumbling idly, the sunshine yellow mech strode past the assembly and disappeared out the doors, booming footsteps slowly fading away.

"He's going to be trouble," said Prowl.

"Likely," said Optimus. "But a valuable asset, if he settles in."

"Hah," said Ironhide.

Evelyn shifted awkwardly. A familiar discomfort was making itself known low in her abdomen, and the ambient chill was not helping.

"Please," she said quietly. "Excuse me. I need to speak with Ratchet."

She was suddenly the center of focus... an unnerving position when one was surrounded by metal giants.

"Somethin' wrong, li'l lady?" asked the black and white mech, Jazz.

"Not... wrong. I just... need to speak with him. Or Wheeljack." She shuddered slightly. "And it's a little chilly in here."

"I c'n take her up," said the black and white giant. "Better me 'n' you, Prime. I'm still on the recovery list... less chance Ratchet'll put me back in the 'bay. He's been kinda' prickly lately, y'know?"

"Lately?" asked the blue and red mech dryly.

Evelyn's world shifted, and there was a second hand held adjacent to Optimus' palm, a gap a foot or so in width showing between the two. Her head swam for a moment with vertigo before she scooted to the edge. The gap disappeared obligingly, and she slid onto the second, smaller hand.

_Just call me Hot Potato,_ she thought. _Or rather, Cold Potato. Brrr._

* * *

The journey back to the medbay seemed shorter than the original trip down, but perhaps that was because of her new conversation partner. 

"Gonna' be interestin' around here, I think. You sure know how to stir things up."

"I didn't _do_ anything," she objected.

"Still," said the mech with a grin. "First bringin' Sunshine aboard, then this body-snatchin' story. Yer famous, y'know?"

"I'm what?"

"Well, Ratch has had y' pretty locked down since y' came online. Didn't want any disturbances. 'Course, most everyone on board knows about ya."

Evelyn pondered that. "Joy."

"Hah. I wouldn't worry. Some of 'em haven't ever seen an organic before."

"To be fair, I hadn't ever seen a giant ro—mech until this mess."

Upon exiting the elevator, the air seemed to be nearly sweltering, and Evelyn gathered her hair off of her neck and wondered what she could use for a hair tie. She glanced up at her new transportation, thinking not for the first time that he seemed strangely familiar.

"Why was it so cold?" she asked.

"Hm? Oh, Met's probably just takin' some time gettin' all the climate controls up to Ratchet's new specs. We don't really care about the temperature as long as our fluids don't freeze. Takes a while to heat this much air. Ya warmin' up alright?"

"Thawing out nicely," she replied with a little grin.

"Good to hear. Tell ya one thing, no one with a workin' processor messes with one a' the Hatchet's patients."

_Say what? _"Patient?"

"Rule the first of this group: if Ratch' so much as performs a basic systems check on ya, yer aft is officially his, and don't y' dare get it scrapped doin' somethin' stupid."

"He's been really nice to me."

"Oh, I ain't sayin' he's some sort of Pit-born. He's a good mech. This whole group is. When ya feel up to it, I could take you around 'n' introduce you, y'know?"

"How many of you are there?"

"On Met? 'Bout thirty or forty, I think."

Evelyn attempted to visualize thirty metal giants... and then she tried to visualize a ship large enough to hold them. She came up short on both attempts. "I'd like to meet them, I think."

"Whenever y' want to. Hound 'n' Blue would give a transistor to talk with ya." All the doors appeared the same to Evelyn, but Jazz slowed to a stop beside one. "Here's yer stop."

Evelyn drew in a fortifying breath as the door slid open, trying to plot out the proper way to explain the concept of a toilet to a forty-foot robotic alien.

* * *

**End Chapter Twelve**

* * *

** Note: **Originally, the number of mechs aboard Metellus Cursor was listed as sixty. This was an error that I forgot to fix before posting. It has now been changed as of 06/18/07. 


	14. Meeting

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** For those who have not read it, I now have a sidestory for _Juxtaposition _up, called _On The Care And Feeding Of Humans._ If you haven't read it, check it out. It's my meager attempt at humor.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirteen**

* * *

_**Kirk: **__How are we doing?  
__**McCoy: **__How are "we" doing? Funny you should put it quite that way, Jim. "We" are doing fine._  
**- ****Star Trek III: The Search for Spock**

* * *

Scratching at the mud-stains on her jeans in the vain hope of somehow lessening the mark, Evelyn sat upon a table in one of the private treatment rooms of the medbay, her new home-away-from-Earth. Wheeljack and Ratchet had used the table as a place to set up a water supply, bed, and an awkward-looking toilet-machine (which, at her request, had been hidden behind several flat, wide storage boxes propped on their sides, to both mechs' bemusement). A human-scale ladder connected the table and the floor, though Evelyn had yet to dare a trip down it. 

The ringing had not gone away. Rather, it was now constant, an ever-presence buzzing, keening sound overlaying everything that she could hear. Strangely enough, now that it was ever-present, it was easier to ignore, which was a blessing since it might otherwise have grated on her nerves. Even so, it grew louder in the presence of the Autobots and faded slightly when she was alone. If she tilted her head just _so,_ she could detect a change in the tone of the ringing noise: evidence of Ratchet's presence in his office, a small room branching off the medbay with a window looking out on the row of tables.

She grinned quietly to herself. _Well, no one's going to be sneaking up on me anytime soon._

'_Looks like we made it, huh?'_

"Ack!" She dropped the jeans, heart hammering in her throat. She looked around stupidly as though expecting someone to step into view. She blinked. _Sideswipe...?_

'_Good to know you remember me,'_ replied the voice jauntily.

Her eyes narrowed. _Sideswipe._

'_Yeah?'_

"You... utter... _bastard."_

And she proceeded to tell him exactly what she thought of her current situation.

"—scared half to death, surrounded by metal giants straight out of those old Power Ranger shows, albeit with nicer manners, you idiotic, self-absorbed, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ son of a—"

She did not remember seeing Ratchet enter the room, but when she noticed him, the expression upon his face suggested that he had been watching for some time while she chattered curses at the empty air like an infuriated squirrel. She blushed a furious scarlet, falling silent, and the red and white mech regarded her seriously.

"Are you all right?" he asked at last.

'_Who's this guy?'_

Evelyn gritted her teeth. "He's back."

"He—?" The medic's eyes brightened. "Sideswipe. He finally came online? He has some catching up to do." The tone of Ratchet's voice suggested that he was greatly looking forward to being the one helping in the 'catching up'.

Evelyn felt her lips twitch into a tiny grin. It suddenly seemed as though a very large weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

_Sideswipe,_ she thought, with perhaps a little (just a little) vindictive delight, _meet your future Chief Medical Officer. His name is Ratchet._

_I don't think he likes you._

'_He hasn't even met me.'_

_We've... talked. _

"Well," said the medic. "Let's get the basics out of the way. I'm Ratchet, the CMO aboard the Autobot ship Metellus Cursor, under the command of Optimus Prime."

'_We're with a Prime?'_

The voice sounded startled, and Evelyn frowned, attention drifting from Ratchet's explanation of the circumstances (an explanation peppered with many phrases similar to 'since a certain mech simply could not wait for backup' and 'due to the thoughtless actions of a certain mech' and 'amazing how glitched certain mechs' CPU functions are, isn't it?').

_Optimus Prime,_ she replied. _You mean Prime isn't a name?_

'_It's a title,'_ replied the voice. _'It means he can access the Matrix. Slag. I thought they were part of some guerilla company.'_

Evelyn thought of the large red and blue mech. _Matrix?_

'_It's... I can't explain it. What about Sunny? How's he doing?'_

Evelyn snorted. Ratchet broke off his lecture, eyeing her.

_He's been in the brig twice and mouthed off to Optimus Prime and Prowl in front of two others. Haven't heard anything else since, except when Gears came in for repairs._

Gears was a 'midget-bot' (actually called a minibot, she had learned) with bright blue and red paint and a disposition so grating that he had very nearly bumped Sunstreaker down a peg on her list of people with whom to never spend time alone.

'_... he "mouthed off" to a Prime?'_

_Yes. I was there._

'_And who's Prowl?'_

_Optimus Prime's second in command._

'_Oh, slag me.'_

"Evelyn?"

She looked at the medic. "I'm sorry, Ratchet. We... we were having question-and-answer."

"I see." Ratchet frowned contemplatively down at her. "The main points, then. Sideswipe, I can't repair your shell until we retrieve it from Earth, which we can't do until the Decepticons leave this sector. Believe me, I want to get you back into your shell as soon as possible. Until then, you'll just have to wait."

'_That doesn't sound so bad.'_

"And Evelyn, Jazz is asking if you want to..." The medic squinted slightly. "to _'go fer a quick stroll 'round th' rec deck,'_ I believe he said."

"That sounds great," Evelyn replied with a smile.

_Not so bad, hm?_

_You haven't heard his theories on reconstructing errant Cybertronians as sentient smelting furnaces._

* * *

The 'rec deck,' as Ratchet had referred to it, contained the recreation room, washracks (_Locker rooms, _Evelyn thought with a little laugh) and several 'practice rooms'. The practice rooms were essentially a large gym complex with areas for sparring, obstacle courses, and firing ranges. The main practice room was easily larger than Mason City's mall, brightly lit and with yellow-orange flooring and walls, a great difference from the standard silver-gray of everywhere else. 

Seated upon Jazz's hand, Evelyn felt very, very small as she stared across the huge room. She noted with amazement that the room was so large that the far wall seemed blurred and slightly pale due to light diffusion, the way that mountains seemed to fade into the distance.

"Thought Sunshine might be in here," said Jazz as he made his way across the room, passing several places where a large ring had been marked out on the floor. "He was beatin' the bolts outta' one o' th' practice drones last time I passed through."

'_That sounds about right.'_

"Is that all he does?" Evelyn asked.

"Well, Prowl's got him polishin' the bulkheads and doin' inventory with Grapple. Whenever he's not there, he's either in his room, in th' rec room refueling, or in here. Not a very social mech, yer Sunshine."

"Well, he's only been here... how long?"

"Seven joors."

"Just about two days, then... I think."

"Close enough," said Jazz.

They passed by several doorways, and Evelyn squinted at the strange, jagged markings above the lintels. _Somewhere between katakana and the Greek alphabet,_ she mused.

And then she realized, to her consternation, that the doorways were all half again as tall as Jazz and a good deal wider.

"Ah... Exactly how big do you get?" she asked.

"We stay th' same size," said the mech, "however big we were designed t' be."

"I mean, how big are... how large can Autobots be?"

The mech seemed to ponder that. "Well... ya know how big Prime is t' ya?"

She nodded.

"Ya have my sympathies."

Something in Evelyn's mind went 'eek!'

_Oh, good lord... that's like if the Statue of Liberty decided to take a stroll through New York._

'_He's talking about gestalts and Supremes.'_

Evelyn frowned, still picturing Lady Liberty hitching up her skirts for the watery stroll over to Ellis Island. _Like Diana Ross?_

'_What? _No._ I'm talking big bots. A gestalt is a team of mechs who can combine into one big mech. A Supreme... Supreme is a title, like Prime or Cursor or Fortress. It just means a mech is really, really,_ really_ big.'_

_I don't think I want to meet a Supreme._

'_I wouldn't worry. They couldn't squeeze one onboard if they used grease and a crowbar.'_

An odd noise was growing steadily louder, a muffled _phiw phiw phiw_ sound that put Evelyn in mind of the battle scenes in the old _Star Wars_ movies. Jazz slowed beside one of the doorways and pressed the key-panel on the wall.

The air was suddenly alive with shrieks of _SHEEW SHEEW SHEEW_. Jazz stepped through the doorway, and Evelyn clapped her hands over her ears and stared at the source of the ruckus, a slightly-built gray mech firing a mean-looking rifle at a target at the far end of the long room.

_Did Prowl get a paintjob?_ she thought dumbly, looking at the stumpy wing-things on the mech's back and the tips of a red chevron showing over the top of the helm.

The mech rapid-fired nonstop at his target for several moments more before ceasing, the new silence leaving Evelyn's ears ringing loudly (for once, not just because of a mech's presence nearby).

"**Hits: 100 percent,"**declared a mechanical voice. **"Accuracy: 98.879 percent. Speed: 99.985 percent. Ranking: second."**

"Oh, bolts," said the gray mech, slinging the rifle over his back where it somehow caught between his shoulders and stayed.

"Still can't beat out Mirage, huh, Blue?"

"Jazz!" The gray mech whirled around and smiled at the black and white mech. "Yeah. I've got speed and hits, but Mirage still has the best accuracy, and that weighs the most, you know?" The mech's blue eyes caught on Evelyn. "Oh."

"Evelyn," said Jazz, "this is Bluestreak, our gunner. Blue, this is Evelyn, the li'l femme 'Jack's always on about."

"Pleased to meet you, Bluestreak," she said.

_Why would they call him Bluestreak?_ she thought bemusedly. _There's not a speck of blue anywhere on him._

'_Maybe those dark parts,' _said the voice.

_No, that's gray._

"Well, you can call me Blue if you want," said the winged mech with a bright grin, "'cause everyone else does. Everybody has a nickname around here. 'cept Jazz, maybe, but that's just because you can't really shorten 'Jazz' to anything, or Prowl either, I guess, or Gears... well, there are a lot of guys without nicknames, but you can call me Blue. Do you have a nickname?"

'_I think I get it.'_

_Right. _Evelyn's mouth formed a small 'oh.' _Bluestreak. Apt._

* * *

Evelyn's stomach grumbled as she watched Jazz down a cube-full of glowing pink liquid. The voice grumbled, too. 

'_First thing when I get my body back, I'm drinking enough high-grade to short my systems for an entire vorn.'_

_Provided Ratchet rebuilds you with a mouth, _replied Evelyn sourly, her charitable mood from earlier evaporating as her hunger increased.

'_Don't even joke.'_

_Who said I was?_

She sat atop the table set farthest in the corner of the recreation room, using an overturned drink-cube as an impromptu stool. One of the walls bore four strange machines which (Evelyn thought) looked vaguely like the ice-cream machines found at buffet restaurants. The machines were dispensers for the pink liquid, and occasionally a new mech would enter the room and make his way over to one of them to retrieve his own cup of the brew. A few mechs she had yet to meet were scattered here and there in their own little groups. Jazz and Bluestreak loomed over her, each with a cube of the strange liquid in their hands, blocking her from the sight of the other mechs, though she thought that they must have been able to hear her speaking.

"... Hound said he'd be here soon's he got off shift," Jazz was saying. "Then I gotta' jet for monitor duty. Y'okay w' that, Evy?"

_Maybe I shouldn't have told them my nickname._

"I don't see why not," she replied. "Bluestreak knows the way to the medbay, don't you, Blue?"

"Well, sure. Who doesn't? Even if you've never been there, you can hear Ratchet hollering two decks away. No one's as loud as Ratchet when he's fritzed about something, 'specially if Wheeljack's blown up his lab again."

Jazz laughed, a loud 'ha-ha' laugh, not the low rumbles that Wheeljack and Bluestreak produced. Evelyn looked at him askance.

'_Strange guy,' _said the voice.

The rec room doors opened, and a new mech entered, this one burly and painted gray and hunter-green. Jazz waved at the newcomer, who grinned and returned the gesture. The green mech made his way to one of the machines and retrieved a cube of pink liquid before making his way over to their table.

"Heya, Hound," said Jazz. "We were wonderin' if you were ever gonna' make it."

"I'm here, aren't I?" replied the burly mech genially. He turned glowing blue eyes toward Evelyn. "Hello, there. You must be little Evelyn."

She had a short flashback to her first meeting with her great uncle Titus. _He's not going to pat me on the head, is he?_

"In my defense," she said, "I'm actually fully grown. And I started out as _this_ big." She held her hands about two feet apart.

"Maybe not so little, then," conceded the green mech, taking a seat. "I'm Hound."

"Hound's our tracker," said Jazz. "One o' th' best."

"I just have a knack for finding stuff, Jazz. Come on."

"Everyone here is th' best at what they do," said Jazz with a grin at the green mech. He looked at Evelyn. "You saw Blue in action; he's our crack shot. Hound has th' most sensitive olfactory sensors o' anyone onboard. He can track most anything through scent... and I got t' git before Ironhide comes lookin'. Blue, Ratchet wants Evy back before his shift ends, about a joor from now, alright?"

_I have a curfew?_

"I'll make sure she's on time," said Bluestreak. "Primus, I don't want to give Ratchet any reason to yell. He nearly sent my auditory receptors offline that time when my rifle backfired, remember? I don't think even you can get that loud, Jazz."

"Let's not test it, okay?" said Hound. "I don't think Met could take it."

"Be an interestin' experiment," chuckled Jazz. "See ya'll later."

Evelyn and the two mechs called their own goodbyes, and Jazz made his way out of the rec room.

"How're you settling in?" Hound asked. "Wheeljack and Ratchet have been in and out of the labs nonstop since you arrived. Wheeljack's thrilled."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the mention of 'nonstop.' "They're doing a lot of work," she said. "Wheeljack's working to create some sort of food for me, I think. After that, I should be set."

"I guess organics can't take energon," said Bluestreak, looking into his cube-cup.

"Is that what you call it? Energon?" she asked. "May I see?"

The gunner looked startled but obligingly set his cube down on the table near her. She looked inside at the shifting, swirling pink liquid, holding one hand out over it experimentally. Heat rose off the liquid, and her skin tingled strangely. She pulled her arm back quickly.

"Definitely can't drink that," she said, startled. _Liquid energy,_ she thought. _Wheeljack said it was like plasma. They're drinking lightning?_ "Doesn't it hurt?"

"Drinking energon?" asked Hound, sounding surprised. "Nah."

"It tingles, sort of," said Bluestreak, retrieving his drink. "Why would we drink it if it hurt? Do humans eat things that are painful?"

"Only if something's too hot," she said. "But then, we don't eat painful stuff on purpose, and if it's too hot, we just wait for it to cool down."

The thought of food redoubled her stomach's efforts to make its complaints heard, and she placed one hand over the offended organ sympathetically.

'_Is this normal?'_ asked the voice.

_When you're hungry, yes,_ she replied.

_Bet a tomato sandwich is sounding really good right now, huh?_

The voice made an 'erk' sound. _'Not really.'_

_Give it time._

The door to the lounge opened, and the steady level of chatter between the various mechs quieted and died away. Sunstreaker strode into the room, sunshine yellow paint glossy and scratch-free, foreboding scowl firmly in place. Evelyn's heart gave a startled _ker-thump, _and she noted absently that Sunstreaker easily stood a head taller than most of the mechs she had met.

And then she gave a furious mental growl as an all-too-familiar wave of pins-and-needles spread over her frame. Without her permission, her body strode to the edge of the table, her voice calling out, "_Sunny!"_

"Evy?" asked Bluestreak.

"Evelyn?" asked Hound.

"Sideswipe?" asked Sunstreaker.

_You are in _so much_ trouble,_ snarled Evelyn.

* * *

**End Chapter Thirteen**


	15. Psycho

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Shorter than usual, but I think you can forgive me thanks to the double update (See _On The Care And Feeding Of Humans_).

_**Happy Birthday, Cafei!**_

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Fourteen**

* * *

_Has the fact that you're completely psycho managed to escape your notice?  
_**- Bianca Stratford, ****10 Things I Hate About You**

* * *

She started with French, because when it came to conveying sheer fury, nothing worked quite so well as the artistic range of nasal to guttural that the French language possessed. From there, it was an easy transition to Italian, staccato syllables cracking like gunfire, and a quick shift in the nominative and ablative cases brought her smoothly into Latin, which, granted, was not a language for cursing, but she made do. 

The world seemed to pause around her, a blur of silver and gray dotted with glowing blue eyes.

Latin bled into Greek, which hopped and skipped over to German. She lingered in German awhile, the blunt, harsh edges of the words suiting her mood very well. German slid to Russian, hisses and growls like an infuriated jungle cat, which made quite a leap into the rhythmic chatter of Japanese. From Japanese, she leapt to Spanish for a few short moments before making a final journey to Arabic for a big finish... because in the entire world and all the varied languages therein, there were no curses quite like Arabic curses.

Blessed silence descended upon her mind, and she realized that her body was exactly that, _her body,_ once more.

'_What the frag was _that?' demanded the voice incredulously.

"Sideswipe?" Sunstreaker repeated. He was standing much closer to the table than she remembered.

"No," she snapped. "It's _not_ Sideswipe. _I'm_ not Sideswipe. I will never _be_ Sideswipe, though Sideswipe seems to enjoy being _me_ a lot more often than I'd like!"

'_Hey!'_

The mild frown on the yellow mech's face morphed into a foreboding scowl.

"Are you okay, Evelyn?" asked Bluestreak, leaning toward her. "You sounded really strange just then. What was that? It sounded like when one of our communication programs gets a virus. You don't have a virus, do you?"

"Shut up, rookie," snapped Sunstreaker. "Sideswipe, what's going on?"

"Hey, now," said Hound. "Settle down. Bluestreak hadn't done nothing to you."

"You can shut up, too."

"Is there a problem, Hound?" At the next table over, a large red mech had turned in his seat to watch the proceedings with mild curiosity. Seated with him, a yellow midget-bot looked on tensely.

"S'alright, Inferno," said Hound, blue eyes locked on Sunstreaker's towering frame. "Just a little misunderstanding."

'_Seriously, let me talk to Sunny. See that look? That's what he looks like before he starts pounding things.'_

_I don't care! _That sounded good, so she repeated it out-loud, "I... do... not... _care!"_

If nothing else, the shout had broken the staring contest between Sunstreaker and Hound. She now had the full attention of the room.

"I don't care if you want to talk to him," she said, staring at nothing in particular. "I don't care if that _is_ the look he gets before he goes on a rampage. I _do_ care that you think you can puppeteer me whenever the mood strikes! This is ridiculous, and... and it's _rude."_

'_Rude?'_ The voice sounded amused.

"And it's what's landed me in the middle of _outer space_ with a bunch of giant robots! Are you _listening?_ Outer space? Robots? I'm in space with _aliens,_ starving, without a bathroom, a mattress, or a Starbucks anywhere for light-years around, all because of _you,_ and I'm not going to put up with this stupid, stuck-up, inconsiderate, ungrateful attitude of yours anymore!"

Ringing silence descended. Evelyn's temples throbbed with pain. Her fists clenched and unclenched at her sides, her breath seeming preternaturally loud.

'_What do you want from me?'_

She closed her eyes, shaking her head slightly. _I'm not a suit. I'm not something you can just slip into for a quick stroll around town. _

_This is _my _body._

'_So I just sit here? That's not fair. I spent nearly five of your months away from Sunny, and now that we're here, I can't talk to him at all?'_

_It would serve you right,_ she replied testily.

'_You're right. You're not a suit. But for now, like it or not, this is _our_ body.'_

_What?! _she demanded, enraged. _This is _not_ a democracy!_

'_I would call it a... partnership.'_ The voice softened. _'I just want to talk with my brother... and tell him what a huge idiot he's been lately.'_

Evelyn snorted. _Right. He'd squish me._

'_Nope. See, that's the beauty of it. You're too little. He wouldn't dare. If it were _my_ body, he'd beat the circuits out of me.'_

_This is supposed to be encouraging?_

'_Well, he doesn't want me _dead._ That's all I'm saying. Your body's way to fragile for him to be careless.'_

_Not helping._ She sighed heavily. _... You're still the rudest misbegotten excuse for a septic tank ever spawned. You know that, right?_

'_Is that a "Why of course you can talk with your brother, Sideswipe. By all means, go ahead."?'_

_From now on, _ask first.

'_Autobot's honor.'_

She opened her eyes. Hound and Bluestreak looked worried, as though they were debating whether or not to rush her back to the medbay and Ratchet's tender care... and if so, who should do the rushing. Sunstreaker looked irritated and confused. The other mechs in the room appeared quietly, intensely interested. Evelyn's cheeks flushed. She coughed softly and tugged at the hem of her shirt.

"Ah, Bluestreak, Sunstreaker's going to take me back to the medbay, alright?"

"What?" The gunner's wide eyes went from her to Sunstreaker and back again. "Are you sure? I mean, it's no trouble or anything. I don't have anything until next shift, and even then it's just basic maintenance duties with Hoist. He wouldn't like it if I were late, sure, but I wouldn't get punished or anything, so even if I ran a little late—"

"Is there a direct link from your CPU to your vocalizer?" asked Sunstreaker. "I think you're missing a few filtering programs."

"It's fine, Bluestreak," said Evelyn with an unimpressed glance at the yellow mech. "Sunstreaker will take good care of me."

_He'd _better,she thought darkly.

"It was nice to meet you both," she said with a smile at the gray and the green mechs. "I'm set up in the medbay if you ever want to find me, though I guess you both knew that. I'd love to talk with you again."

"Sure thing," said Hound. "I wanted to ask you more about your planet."

"Ratchet said you'd need to get out and about," said Bluestreak, "and that you'd need guides. I wouldn't mind showing you around, and I talk a lot, which is a good thing if you want to find out a lot of stuff, I guess, as long as it doesn't annoy you."

"Of course. Thank you both." She walked to the edge of the table and looked up at the frowning Sunstreaker. She sent him a frown of her own. "Well?" she asked at last. "I can't fly, you know."

One large hand swept in from the side and scooped her up around her middle. Her stomach dropped out of her as the room whirled around her, and the yellow and black mech strode toward the door. With a sigh, she propped her elbows on the metal.

_He's all yours._

Gray hallways passed in a blur. Several times they passed by another mech, but no words were ever exchanged. After a short ride in a lift, they emerged on a deck that Evelyn did not recognize (which, really, was not saying much as everything appeared the same to her). Thankfully, the air was the same temperature as she was used to.

The voice finally spoke. _"How's the setup here?"_

Sunstreaker made a sound that could only be described as a grunt. "Decent. Better than the ones at Axis Nebulon."

"_They'd have to be."_

Evelyn briefly pondered how a mechanical being without a tongue could grunt. _At least, I'm assuming no tongues. They have teeth, though..._

"_What happened back on Earth, anyway? I would have bet energon that you could take those two."_

"Remote cannon," said the other, turning down a side hallway, "set in the trees. Knocked me offline, and they brought me back online here." Silver lips curled in a smirk. "Of course, they should have known better than to stand so close when they brought me back."

Mentally, the voice moaned. _"Primus, Sunny, what'd you do?"_

"Nothing permanent."

_Optimus Prime and Prowl had said he was in the brig twice,_ Evelyn contributed.

'_It's programming,' _said the voice. _'If you go offline in battle-mode, you come online in battle-mode. Still, Sunny probably wasn't very restrained.'_

_But he seems like such a controlled and careful guy,_ she replied glibly.

"_Seriously, Sunny, what did you do?"_

"Dents, mostly." The yellow mech paused at one of the many doors lining the hallway and hit a sequence of keys on the pad beside the frame. The door hissed aside, and they entered a room smaller than the private medical room where Evelyn was housed. "Caught the red one a good clip around the audio. Almost got my hands on the white one's wing panels but wasn't quick enough. The Prime is fast."

Evelyn's stomach twisted. _Christ. No wonder Prowl and Ironhide don't like him much._

_Is he always like this?_

There was a long pause. _'Honestly? No.'_

"_You're lucky you didn't get the medic," _her voice joked lightly. _"I don't think even you could take him."_

"Lightweight," replied the yellow mech. "He doesn't even have decent armor."

The room had two (relatively) small tables, two chairs, and two (relatively) small sets of shelves set into the wall. The right and left walls had large rectangular recesses large enough to hold a large mech. Evelyn wondered if Cybertronians slept, because the two niches certainly looked like some extremely uncomfortable type of bed.

"_Don't be like that, Sunny. This isn't a battlefield."_

The mech set her down on one of the tables. Her body staggered at the not-so-gentle landing, and the yellow giant took a seat on the edge of one of the alcoves. Pale blue eyes regarded her.

_Everyone else's eyes are bright blue,_ thought Evelyn.

"Isn't everywhere?"

'_Okay,'_ said the voice. _'Not normal. Definitely not normal.'_

* * *

Sunstreaker returned her to the medbay. Ratchet was in the middle of sorting through a pile of small metal bits and pieces at the shelf along the back wall. The medic looked up as they entered, and his eyes narrowed. 

"Oh, no. Not you. Not if you had one foot in the Inferno. Not if you were missing all your limbs and leaking fluids throughout Metellus. Not if you were carrying your own cranial unit. Not _you. _Not _ever."_

Sunstreaker walked near enough to drop Evelyn atop one of the tables. She landed on her behind with an _'oomph!'_ Ratchet glared as the yellow mech made an about-face and stalked out of the room, all without saying a word or so much as glancing at the medic.

"Such a charmer," she said, picking herself up and rubbing at her backside, grimacing, and walked toward the medic.

"How'd you end up with _him?"_ Ratchet offered her a hand, and she stepped up. He transferred her over to the shelf, setting her down next to his workspace. "Even Jazz can't talk to him, and that maniac can charm the rust off iron."

"Sideswipe wanted to talk with him," she replied. "And he pointed out that if I didn't let him, Sunstreaker was liable to go, ah... pardon me, but the word in my language would be _'apeshit.'"_

"You'll have to explain that one to me sometime. We would call it _'on the fritz'_ or a _'disassembly spree.'"_

The medic was sorting through piles of small wires, setting them in piles according to color. Most were as thick as Evelyn's finger or larger, some even thicker than her wrist, but they seemed ridiculously small in the medic's large, red hands. Two more containers full of wire bits sat on the counter on Ratchet's other side. Evelyn watched the process curiously.

"What are those for?" she asked.

"Extra pieces left over from 'Jack's experiments. Color denotes what it's made of and its purpose, diameter determines its potential. If it's long enough, I can use it here."

"I could do that," she said. "The color part, at least, but I bet I could do the size bit, too."

The medic glanced at her and then at the wires. "I suppose. You would want to?"

"It would give me something to do. You said I might be here awhile." A shroud of melancholy touched her at the thought of 'awhile.'

"I don't see why not. I'll leave a box in your room."

"Thank you."

'_I need to talk to him for a second.'_

Evelyn frowned. _With Ratchet?_

'_He's the only "him" I see,' _replied the voice. _'May I?'_

_You're asking permission. _Evelyn restrained a smug smile. _Yes, you may._

Her throat and mouth tingled. _"Something's wrong with Sunny."_

The medic glanced at her sharply, frowning. His eyes narrowed. "The word for your brother's condition is 'psychosis,' Sideswipe. Consider him diagnosed."

"_But that's not normal. Yeah, he's violent, and he's got a temper, and he doesn't like other mechs much –and I know I'm not helping my case here— but this is a new high, even for him."_

"And what makes you think this is any different from his normal violent, temperamental, antisocial behavior?"

"_Have you seen his optics?"_

Ratchet's frown lessened slightly.

"_You know what I mean. That's not normal."_

"Your models are high-strung, as a rule. I should know; we've got one other with your same base processing system aboard, and he gives me fits on a regular basis."

"_We were alone, and it didn't change at all. Sunny might be like that around strangers, but not around me. Something is _wrong."

The medic nodded once, slowly. "Noted. I'll keep a watch on him."

"_Thanks."_

Evelyn blinked and cleared her throat experimentally when the tingling faded. She shook her head and frowned. "What did all of that mean? About his eyes?"

"Autobot optics are generally bright blue. It's just the way we're built. Sideswipe was pointing out that his brother's optics are too light."

"Yes. They're pale. They were almost white when I first saw him. What does that mean?"

Red fingers sorted through the varied snippets of wire with skill and dexterity that Evelyn would not have believed of the large digits. "It means that Sunstreaker is routing extra power to his optics, running advanced visual software. It helps to take in more detail, faster, and in several different wavelengths of light."

"And that's bad?"

"Autobots run high-performance programs only when we need them. They take a lot of memory to process, and they drain power. Generally, we only use them in combat situations when we need peak performance."

"What does _that_ mean?"

"It means," said Ratchet, "that Sunstreaker is running in battle-mode in the middle of a safe zone, and we don't know why."

* * *

**End Chapter Fourteen**


	16. Alert

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, very slight robot gore

**Author Notes:** Still a little short, and this was one hard chapter to find a quote for, so it might not fit that well... Oh, well. A chapter is a chapter and a quote is a quote. Enjoy!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Fifteen**

* * *

_They're violent and dangerous, but they're all really nice guys.  
_**- Quatre Winner, ****Gundam Wing**

* * *

"A mining outpost?" 

"Teyonu 8," said Ratchet. "It's an Autobot settlement. They've been a good source of energon in the past, and they have some manufacturing facilities."

"So... I'm not sure how this works. We're stopping there? When?"

"In a little less than an orn... about a week and a half. We're running a little low on some supplies, as you can see." He indicated the mattress-sized piece of circuitry set before him on the table and the pile of similar pieces on his other side. One of his hands had flipped and folded and retracted into his forearm to be replaced by a tool that seemed a combination between pliers and clippers. He used this tool to steadily pick the piece of circuitry apart, dividing it into bits of wire and metal and bolts and set the results on the tabletop. "Picking apart 'Jack's leftovers... Primus."

"At least you're not completely out," said Evelyn. She gathered up an armful of the football-sized bolts and carried them over to one of several cube containers that they were using to sort the parts. "And you haven't done any repairs since... Ironhide, am I right? Fixing his knee-joint?"

'_You know, he could sort them a lot faster than you are.'_

_I'm not hurting anything,_ she replied. _It... makes me feel useful._

'_Right...'_

The medic made a hoarse noise that Evelyn was coming to associate with a human snort. "We haven't had any battles since you've come on board, either. Supplies run out quick when it's time for serious repairs."

Evelyn paused in the middle of gathering up a bundle of red wires. "You don't want to stop at Tay... Teh..." She frowned. "... at the outpost?"

"We need supplies," replied Ratchet.

"You don't sound pleased."

"It's a settled outpost," said the mech grimly. "Settled outposts draw attention."

_Don't like the sound of that._

An unhappy thought struck her on her way to the sorting cubes. "Ratchet... aren't the Decepticons still following us?" she asked. "Doesn't that make stopping a bad idea?"

"I think Prowl is hoping to set some sort of trap with the help of the outpost warriors."

"Mining colonies have warriors?"

"Any established settlement needs a security force," the medic pointed out.

'_That's what Sunny and I used to do,'_ contributed the voice. _'Pretty dull. Lots of sentry duty.'_

"I guess so." Evelyn gathered up another armful of metal bits. "So you think there'll be a fight?"

"There's always another fight," said Ratchet. "I just hope we get supplies before the next one comes along."

* * *

There was a steady rotation to the mechs seen in the rec room, though it took Evelyn quite a long time to notice it and figure it out. Part of the problem stemmed from the fact that she operated on a sleep cycle that was completely incompatible with the schedule used by everyone else on board. Ratchet and Wheeljack had set up a light-dark cycle in her assigned room to help her stay on track, but she never knew who would be on duty when she awoke. 

She worked it out with help from Sideswipe, especially curious after several days had passed without seeing Bluestreak. A breem was like a Cybertronian second, a joor like an hour, an orn like a day, and a vorn, a year. Roughly forty-nine joors went into an orn, and most mechs needed ten to twelve joors to 'recharge,' the Cybertronian equivalent of sleep, per orn. The duty rosters usually broke down as twenty-four-point-something-something on-duty and twenty-four-point-something-something off-duty. The rosters were arranged that there were three different shift changes during a rotation; Hound explained that this was so there was never a time when all of the mechs aboard were between stations.

One-hundred and sixty hours on-duty. Eighty hours to recharge. Eighty hours of free time.

It was an eye-opener for Evelyn when she realized that several days' worth of visits to the rec room with Jazz or Bluestreak occurred during a single period of the mechs' free time.

* * *

She raised her hand, watching as her doppelganger raised its own hand to mirror the movement. She wiggled her fingers, then waved. Her double copied her exactly, and she took two steps to the right, circling around. The mirror image took two steps of its own, keeping its distance. 

Evelyn giggled and reached out, smiling when her twin raised its hand to meet hers, its own face creased in a bright smile. Her hand passed through the other's as though it belonged to a ghost, and the image shivered and grew pixilated around the disturbed areas. She drew back quickly, still grinning broadly.

"Hound, that's incredible!" She laughed a little, craning her neck to look up at the stocky green and gray mech seated at the table upon which she stood. "Incredible!" she said again. "I've never seen anything like it. If you hadn't warned me beforehand, I'd have been scared silly!"

'_You humans are so jumpy.'_

"Scared of yourself?" asked the scout, amused. The doppelganger still mimicked Evelyn's movements, and the woman could not help but watch it, intrigued.

"Well, wouldn't you be?" she asked. "What if you turned a corner and you saw yourself standing there? That wouldn't upset you, even a little?" Contrary to her first impression, the doppelganger did not copy her movements perfectly; the image's mouth did not quite match up with her words, and its movements were delayed a split-second later than her own, but they were very small differences.

"It takes a lot of work to fool someone with a hologram," said Hound. "They don't generate heat or register on most any kind of sensors other than visual. Any mech has the capability to see through one."

"So you'd know right away." She planted her hands on her hips, tilting her head and examining the image. "Is that really what I look like?" she asked with a frown.

"Pretty close," said Jazz, grinning, slouching in his chair with his hands folded just beneath where his hood and bumper jutted out as part of his chest. An empty energon cube sat before him on the table. "Hound's good with details."

Evelyn grimaced. "Really?" She reached up to run her fingers through her hair, the strands lank and tangled without proper shampoo, conditioner, or combing. "God, I look horrible."

_And I probably smell worse. Yuck._

'_See, this is why I miss my body. Organics take so much maintenance. How does your species survive if you spend half your life doing tune-ups on yourself?'_

Evelyn's hand slowed and stopped in mid-comb. She peered at the hologram, ignoring the oddness of the situation when it peered back. _I... wonder..._

"Hound?" she asked. "Do you... Do you know what Sideswipe looks like? I've never seen him."

The two mechs exchanged a quick glance. Their eyes dimmed and flickered.

"Prowl's got database images from th' personnel files," said Jazz. "I'll have 'im transfer 'em over."

Hound made a low _'hmm'_ sound deep in his chest. The hologram of Evelyn flickered and faded from sight, the low hum emanating from the hologram projector mounted on the scout's shoulder (an object that Evelyn had previously and wrongly labeled as a missile-launcher) slowly dying away.

"That should do it," said the scout. He pivoted slightly in his seat, aiming the projector at the floor beside the table. A steady hum began to build, vibrating the air. "Here we go."

The image built from the feet upward, tiny square bits of light pulling together in rows upon rows like little glowing bricks. White feet led into scarlet calves, and even before the hologram reached the knees, Evelyn knew that Sideswipe was at least as large as his brother.

_Well, they _are_ twins, _she thought.

White thighs connected to a black lower body, bordered on either side by black hands and white forearms. A broad red chest and shoulders led up to an expressionless silver face framed by a black helm. The hologram stared directly ahead, eyes a dim shade of royal blue.

The voice sat silently in the back of her mind. Evelyn examined the hologram, stepping to the edge of the table to better see. She hummed thoughtfully.

"They don't look a thing alike," she said. "Except... maybe the face. And the build."

"Why should they?" asked Hound. The hologram slowly pivoted in place, giving a 360o view and revealing what appeared to be a rocket pack set between the red mech's shoulders.

"Human twins are exact copies of one another, unless they're fraternal twins, but that's different."

"Well, we can look alike an' not be twins. Cliffjumper 'n' 'Bee are pretty much the same model, but they don't even have th' same creator."

"So what makes twins?" she asked. The hologram had rotated back to face her, and she found herself vaguely unsettled by the blank expression on the silver face. "If you're built by the same person?"

'_Cybertronians aren't like humans,'_ said the voice._ 'Bodies don't make brothers. It's the spark that matters. Sunny and me... we have the same spark.' _He sounded wistful.

Jazz was saying something, but it registered as a sort of distant murmur as she turned her attention to the voice. _Sparks are your minds... your souls,_ she replied. _How can you share one?_

'_Several ways. Bonds, for one. With us, it started as one spark, and it split in two. Spark twins.'_

"Spark twins," she repeated. "Almost like... soul mates."

_Amazing._

Jazz had stopped talking, and he and Hound were both watching her curiously. They were familiar with her bouts of fading in and out of the here and now to speak with Sideswipe. Evelyn laughed softly, still looking at the hologram.

"I really was expecting another Sunstreaker," she said.

Jazz snickered, and Hound gave an amused rumble.

"We've got our hands full w' jus' th' one."

* * *

"Huffer, there is absolutely _nothing_ wrong with your spinal relays, your optical lenses, your cranial transistors, your fuel system, your coolant system, or any other system you possess... especially your vocalizer." 

"Don't you tell me there's nothin' wrong, Ratchet. My joints have been squeakin' and achin' like crazy, and I know the gyros in my right arm just aren't workin' the way they should!"

"Huffer, if you don't get out of my 'bay _right now,_ I'll show you _exactly _what it feels like when your joints _really_ don't work the way they should. _Compute?"_

Evelyn released her hold on the ladder and hopped the last three feet to the floor. Outside, she could heard the visitor's voice mumbling and muttering, footsteps ringing against metal floor-plates, and she walked the dozen yards over to the doorway, peering out just as the outer 'bay doors slid shut behind the departing mech.

Ratchet stood, arms akimbo, beside one of the examination tables, expression thunderous. He noticed Evelyn almost immediately.

"I've been CMO for this unit since it was first founded," he said. "Why do I have to keep telling everyone that I know what I'm doing?"

"Curse of being a medic?" she suggested.

The medic grunted. The nasty-looking tool that had taken the place of his right hand folded and flipped and withdrew into his forearm, swiftly replaced by his normal red hand. Evelyn watched the transformation with a small smile.

_I don't think that will ever get old,_ she thought.

"You know, I've never seen you in the rec room," she said abruptly. "I've seen Wheeljack once or twice, but not you."

The medic sent her an odd look. "What brought that on?"

"I'm not sure. You _do_ look like you need a break. But, come to think of it, I never see Optimus Prime or Prowl or Ironhide in there, either." It was strange to speak with someone, even a very tall someone, from a distance of nearly a city block away, so she moved nearer.

_I still feel like a mouse in this place._

"We're officers. We have other places to get energon from."

"Like an officer's lounge?"

"Like my office," said the medic, his voice overlaid with the slightest hint of _'and that's that.'_

Evelyn dropped the subject, following the medic with her eyes as he went about straightening and organizing various things around the 'bay. She moved underneath one of the tables to be out of his way, though she had learned by now that the mechs were far too conscientious to step on her.

_Not that I'll be going for a trot around the ship by myself anytime soon,_ she thought wryly.

"Anything that I can help with?" she asked.

"No. Aren't you scheduled for 'socializing' right now?"

Evelyn laughed quietly. _More of a social life among robot aliens in space than with my own species on Earth._

_There's something wrong with that._

'_You aren't planning on standing under a table all cycle, are you?'_

_Oh, don't worry. I'm well aware that you're allergic to boredom._

"I'm not sure," she said. "Everyone tends to just show up. Don't you have a roster for human-sitting duties lying around somewhere?"

Large white feet _boom-boom_ed past her shelter, and the medic's voice replied from far overhead, "Your little group might all be on duty now. I'll check."

'_We could go with Sunny,'_ suggested the voice hopefully.

Evelyn grimaced. "... Sideswipe says Sunstreaker might come."

"He's on duty with Grapple."

'_Bolts.'_

Evelyn sighed a little with relief.

"Have you met Bumblebee?" asked the medic.

Evelyn's mind conjured up an image of a yellow and white midget-bot that she had seen sitting in the rec room several times. It was interesting to observe the minibots; she came up to their waists, and they came up to the larger mechs' waists. For some reason, she found this amusing. "I... know him. We've never really spoken."

"Well, now you will."

* * *

"Never really got the chance to talk with you," said the minibot cheerfully, seated at one of the many rec room tables, energon-cube in hand. "Of course, you should have read the memo Ratchet and Wheeljack sent out. No crowding, no questions, no rough handling, no stress... Practically need a certified pass to talk to you." 

Evelyn had been pondering the scale problem presented by giant 'bots and midget-bots sharing the same furniture. There seemed to be a suitable middle ground used with all the facilities; everything too small for the large mechs and everything to big for the small mechs, and it seemed to be working. Bumblebee's comment startled her out of her musings.

"You aren't serious?" she asked.

"No joke," said the mech with a grin. "You didn't think they just tossed you in here and hoped for the best, did you?"

"It... well... yes. Kind of." _Never let it be said that they don't pay attention to detail,_ she thought. _Good lord, maybe he _does_ have a human-sitting roster._

"I wouldn't worry," said Bumblebee. "On these long trips, Ratchet doesn't have much to do but basic repairs and keeping the medbay clean. Now he has something to keep busy."

"Everybody needs a hobby," said Evelyn dimly.

The rec room was perpetually filled with the hum of multiple conversations running at once. Abruptly, a subtle ripple of movement seemed to pass over the room, and all conversations died away. Bumblebee looked around, frowning. There was a long moment of silence.

"Did anyone else get that?" asked one of the mechs toward the back of the room.

A general chorus of assent passed around the room.

Evelyn looked toward Bumblebee. "What's going on?"

The yellow mech frowned, eyes seeming to focus on empty air. "Something... on our comms. Garbled. I'm not sure—"

The lights dimmed abruptly, taking on a yellow tint. Mechs scrambled to their feet in a chorus of booms and clatters of metal on metal, blue eyes dimmed and flickering, and there was a sudden mass exodus as all the mechs rushed for the door.

Evelyn drew nearer to her current chaperone, heart pounding, nearly deafened by the thunderous noise of giant feet pounding the floor. "What's happening?" she shouted, trying to be heard over the din.

Bumblebee was on his feet, expression grim. "Security alert," he replied, also raising his voice, but the room had cleared quickly, and his voice was loud in the new silence. "Escaped prisoner. Come on. I'm taking you back to Ratchet."

Gently but quickly, the minibot swept her off the table, tucking her into the crook of his arm, and set off for the door at a jog.

* * *

The medbay was empty. 

Evelyn's heart fluttered like the wings of a panicked bird as she peered around the open room, trotting forward to look into the medic's office. Bumblebee followed her, steps echoing. The lights in the bay were at full strength, but Evelyn did not know whether that was because the crisis was over or if the lights in the 'bay were always at full capacity like those of a human hospital.

"There's always someone in here," said Evelyn, looking at the yellow minibot.

"He'll be back soon," said the mech. "I wouldn't worry. One 'con on an Autobot ship? He wouldn't have a chance."

"Still..."

A low noise grew steadily louder, a rumble that built into the sound of several sets of footsteps growing nearer. Evelyn and Bumblebee looked toward the bay doors.

The medbay doors opened wide, and the air was filled with the clamor of footsteps and the familiar snarling voice of the Autobot medic. Minibot and human scrambled toward the back of the room to be further out of the way of the flurry of movement.

"Watch that arm! Don't put pressure on the... There! On the table, now. Carefully!"

Wheeljack, Ironhide, and Ratchet all lifted their burden together, pressed tightly against one another. Ratchet's voice carried on in a steady diatribe of instructions and curses, and the trio broke apart as they set their load atop one of the 'bay tables. Wheeljack moved to the storage bays, sorting through the various supplies and plucking out bits and pieces from several sections. Ratchet loomed over the table, his hand already transformed into a tool of sorts as he began work on the still form laid before him.

Evelyn caught sight of the gray paint and a familiar red chevron. "Bluestreak!"

Ratchet's head snapped up, glaring darkly down at her. "Get her out of here!" snarled the medic.

Bumblebee's large hand pressed gently between her shoulders, steering her toward the room that had become her shelter aboard the ship. She craned her neck, watching fearfully as Ratchet and Wheeljack bent over the still form atop the table, Ironhide standing against the wall beside the door, expression dour. A steady drip-drip of blue and pink fluid fell from the table to spatter upon the floor, pooling atop the gleaming silver metal.

* * *

**End Chapter Fifteen**


	17. Assemble

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** The long wait is over! Finally, we will learn just what the frag Sunny and Sides were doing on Earth in the first place! ... for those of you who haven't read my author profile. :3

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

_Don't worry. Nobody dies in this story. They just get really big boo-boos.  
_**- Narrator, ****George of the Jungle**

* * *

_Mama would swat me,_ thought Evelyn. 

She sat atop 'her' table in the private 'bay room, occasionally glancing up at the closed door, rolling a piece of Wheeljack's synthesized human-food between her palms in lieu of pacing or otherwise fidgeting her nervousness away. _No playing with your food. Never, under any circumstances. Especially not when you're a guest in someone else's house... spaceship... whatever._

_God, Bluestreak..._

'_He'll be fine,'_ said the voice, sounding not the least bit worried.

Evelyn squished the piece of food between her palms and held it there, fingers interlaced and clenched tightly. _You don't know that._

'_Sure I do.'_

_Oh, now you're omniscient? A disembodied, amnesiac, omniscient, extraterrestrial robot. How could I doubt you?_

_... he was _bleeding._ I didn't know you could bleed._

'_But did you see smoke? Or sparks?'_

Evelyn looked up at the door once more. The metal slab stood still and silent, seemingly immovable. _No. No sparks or smoke, just pink and blue... blood._

'_Then he's fine. It's just severed energon and coolant lines, and probably lubricant lines, too, but that's clear; you probably couldn't see it. Smoke and sparks are when there's real trouble. That's when major circuitry is severed or fuel reserves have started smoldering. The rookie's fine.'_

Evelyn stared at the small, brown disk of food-foam in her hands. _How do you _know_ this?_

'_Ratchet's trained to put 'em together,'_ said the voice. _'I'm trained to take 'em apart. Me 'n' Sunny... we're good at what we do.'_

_Oh._ There really was not an adequate answer for that. _That... makes sense._

'_So stop brooding. You're making _me_ depressed. Primus.'_

Evelyn nibbled at one edge of the abused piece of food. It was a material with approximately the density and texture of insulation foam and with a bland, vaguely nutty flavor and a bitter aftertaste.

_You're getting better,_ she thought at last. _At the reassurance thing, I mean._

_Thanks._

Evelyn sat awake even when the lights in the room began to dim, and everything finally fell into complete shadow, broken only by the faint green and yellow glow of the key-panel beside the door. She sat with her back against the shallow box that had become her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, jacket draped over her shoulders for warmth.

_Thank God for three-story rooms,_ she thought tiredly.

'_You don't like the dark?'_

_I can stand the dark,_ she replied, _and I can take tight spaces, but both at once is a little much._

_I guess all mechs have infrared and night-vision or something, right?_

'_Pretty much. Yeah.'_

_No irrational phobias for you, then._

'_... you'd be surprised, I think.'_

The private rooms must have been made to muffle sounds on the outside. The barest shuffling noise was the only warning she received before the door slid aside with a quiet whisper of metal on metal, and the bright lights of the main bay fell over her in a pathway of white. She squinted past the radiance, tracing the shadowy outline of the mech in the doorway. Her gaze caught on the chevron atop the being's helm, and her stomach clenched and then plummeted.

_No wings..._ she thought.

"Hello, Ratchet."

"You're supposed to be in recharge," said the medic, voice mildly accusatory.

"Can't sleep," she replied. She could make out the faint glow of the mech's blue eyes past the glare of the 'bay lights.

"Is this normal for your species?"

Evelyn considered. "Only if we're... upset."

The medic seemed to be examining her. "You aren't ill?"

"No."

There was a pause.

"You should recharge," he said at last. "Optimus is convening a meeting during your next online cycle. He wants you and Sideswipe there."

Evelyn nodded but otherwise did not move. "Bluestreak?" she asked.

"Repaired," said the medic. "No complications. He'll be online in less than an orn."

Her breath escaped her lungs in the form of a long, relieved sigh. "Good," she said. "I'm glad."

"Mm. You'll be able to recharge now, I trust?"

"Yes."

"Do so."

With that, the medic walked away, disappearing from her range of sight.

But if she tilted her head just _so,_ she could discern two slight variances in the ringing around her: Bluestreak and Ratchet, both just one wall away. Evelyn stood and pulled off her shoes and socks, stepping over the edge of the storage box and beginning the nightly ritual of plumping the coarse fabric of her bedding into a suitable nest.

_I'm glad._

* * *

Ratchet called it a 'conference room.' Evelyn was grateful for his presence when she saw exactly how many mechs were waiting there, all seated at the largest table she had ever seen and in a room that was very nearly as large as the main medbay. 

She recognized most of the mechs. Optimus Prime stood at the head of the table, in front of a large viewscreen currently showing the red symbol of the Autobots. Prowl and Ironhide sat to his left and right. Beside Prowl was Jazz, and next to Jazz was the yellow minibot Bumblebee. Beside Ironhide was a white mech with red and black detailing. Standing beside the doorway was Sunstreaker.

_Oh, that's a lot of people..._ she thought dazedly. She wobbled slightly when she stepped down from Ratchet's hand onto the table. The medic took a seat next to the unknown red, white, and black mech, looking faintly disgruntled.

Her hands fidgeted, picking at an uneven section of fingernail until she scolded herself and folded them firmly before her.

Optimus Prime nodded slightly and made a low noise in his chest. "I appreciate all of you taking the time to attend this meeting. Most of you already know, but to recap for those who don't—" _Is he looking at me?_ "—and to make sure everyone has all of the available information, approximately four joors past, the Decepticon Torque managed to escape the brig. Red Alert?" Optimus looked toward the white, red, and black mech.

"Bluestreak was on sentry duty," said the previously-unnamed Red Alert. "I don't know why. It was Bluestreak's off-duty period. Huffer was scheduled for the brig."

"Huffer was in the 'bay," said Ratchet, expression dark. "Some slag about joint problems and his arm gyros not functioning. He's better maintained than _I_ am, for Primus' sake."

"You know Blue," said Jazz. "Prob'ly took Huffer's shift for 'im."

"Bluestreak is never scheduled for brig duty," came Prowl's quiet, precise voice. "He isn't suited."

A short moment of silence fell over the room.

"How'd the 'Con get out?" asked Jazz at last, looking toward Red Alert.

"He managed to break loose a piece of metal from the bunk, probably due to a flaw in the metal. Grapple or Hoist will need to check the rest of the cells for similar problems."

"Noted," murmured Prowl.

"He used it as a weapon of sorts, and cut the insulation on a minor circuitry line in his neck, then feigned deactivation. Bluestreak saw the damage and opened the cell."

The white, red, and black mech's voice was crisp and level, impartial and impersonal. Jazz looked down at the table, and Ratchet's eyes dimmed slightly. The metal panels mounted on Prowl's back lowered slightly before twitching up into their usual position.

Evelyn filed it all under 'Alien Mech Body Language' and left it to examine another time.

"The Decepticon subdued Bluestreak and used the brig control panel as an access port to splice into Metellus Cursor's communication lines. Metellus' security protocols did not notice the breach until a short, coded message was broadcast. We managed to save a fragment of it, and code-breaker programs are working on it as we speak. Bumblebee, Jazz, I'd appreciate it if you would take time to look at it. You have experience in decoding such things."

Mutters of 'noted' drifted around the room.

"How is Bluestreak?" asked Optimus.

Ratchet huffed. "He'll be fine. Severed fuel and coolant lines, for the most part. There was some damage to his chest and shoulder armor, so I'm leaving him under for the welding to assimilate into the original metal. I'll bring him back before next shift change, then light duty for an orn, I would think."

'_Told you so.'_

_Alright, so you _are_ omniscient. Pardon me._

"And Torque?" asked the Prime.

"Ironhide and Inferno weren't exactly gentle, if that's what you're asking," replied Ratchet with just a hint of nastiness to his tone, "but he'll live to appreciate his new cell... if I ever decide to reactivate him, that is."

Ironhide grunted. "No hurry," said the red mech.

"We'll need to question him," said the Prime. "As soon as possible."

Ratchet frowned but nodded. "Next shift change, then," said the medic, disgruntled.

"I had intended to wait until Sideswipe was in his original body before holding such a meeting," said Optimus Prime, looking toward Evelyn. "However, we need to know what Torque could have broadcast to the Decepticons. We need to know what happened on Earth... _everything_ that happened on Earth, beginning with how you arrived there in the first place. Sunstreaker? Sideswipe?"

'_May I?'_

_Go ahead._

"_I only remember a little after leaving Axis Nebulon,"_ came the hoarse parody of her voice. _"We were transferred to another unit and put under a commander called Ultra Magnus on the second moon of a planet called Heralxis."_

"We know that much," said Prowl. "You were dismissed from the mining force for excessive brutality... or should I say, Sunstreaker was."

"_It wasn't Sunny's fault,"_ said the voice vehemently.

"Sunstreaker?" Optimus inquired mildly.

Evelyn looked over and up at the tall, yellow mech.

"They knew better than to pick fights with us," said Sunstreaker. "Boredom and stupidity don't mix well with high-grade."

"_He didn't do anything... permanent."_

"Your commander didn't seem to view it so lightly," said Prowl.

"_Heh. Ah..."_ The voice seemed to be hesitant to speak. _"Well, that's probably because it was his bonded that picked the fight in the first place."_

Jazz made a muffled sound that could have been a snicker.

Prowl did not look half so amused. "So he believed that Ultra Magnus would have more use for you."

"What happened on Heralxis?" asked Optimus.

Her shoulders lifted in a brief shrug. _"I... I honestly don't know. I barely remember past the first orn or so."_ Evelyn's body turned toward Sunstreaker. The yellow mech met her eyes for a long moment before looking back toward the gathered mechs, looking somewhat resigned.

"We were on probation. Sentry duty for the most part, then monitor duty and combat training after we were cleared. We were there for less than a twentieth of a vorn."

'_Four years,'_ translated the voice helpfully, sounding thoughtful and a little surprised.

_Four and a quarter,_ she countered.

"We were called to a meeting with a Prime, Philotimus. He was requesting warriors to supplement his own unit. Ultra Magnus gave him what he could. He kept us –Sideswipe and me– and a handful of others." Sunstreaker paused, eyes narrowing slightly. "Three orns later, the base was attacked by a Decepticon fleet."

A subtle, droning hum came from several mechs, making the air shiver and the hair along Evelyn's arms and neck stand on end. _Are they _growling?she asked incredulously.

'_... well, they aren't happy.'_

"The timing is highly suspect," said Prowl.

"Philotimus 's a Prahm," countered Ironhide. "He wouldn't do somethin' like that."

"Primes are hardly infallible," said Optimus, "though with the influence of the Matrix, it is hard to imagine one arranging such an attack."

"Outside interference," said Jazz quietly.

"Likely," Optimus agreed. He looked toward Sunstreaker. "We knew of the attack. We were not aware of Philotimus' involvement. What happened after that?"

"The outer defenses held off the main attackers for less than a joor. Ultra Magnus called Sideswipe and I to his office. He told us that he had been in possession of one of the Spark Keys of Vector Sigma, and that it was likely the reason for the attack." Another short pause. "He gave it to Sideswipe and told us to run."

"He gave one o' th' Keys to a pair o' warriors he'd known less'n a vorn?" demanded Ironhide.

Sunstreaker glanced at the red mech, expression oddly neutral. "We were the best," said the yellow warrior simply.

Ironhide gave a frustrated huff.

"What did you do?" asked Prowl.

Sunstreaker's lip curled in an expression that was not quite a sneer and not quite a smirk. "We ran. We took a two-mech shuttle from the bay, slipped around to the dark side of the planet, and jetted out of there. Of course, we were followed."

Evelyn stared at the yellow mech. _You don't remember any of this?_

'_No.'_ The voice sounded uneasy. _'How much have I missed?'_

_Four and a quarter years, apparently._

"The chase lasted... probably five orns before we evaded the last of the ships. We were running low on fuel, so we entered a planetary system and navigated through the asteroid belt surrounding the inner section. One of the planets read as rich in resources and showed signs of intelligent habitants, so we decided to land. We did not know that one last ship was still following us. We were shot down."

"Ya obviously survived," said Jazz.

"The ship was a wreck. We used the last of our energon stores to power the reformatting system to change our alt-modes. Communications were gone. We worked out how to use the locals' power supply to recharge." Sunstreaker's eyes dimmed, then grew pale. "Sideswipe and I split up to explore the settlement. The 'Cons found him."

_I guess this... is where we met._

'_Yeah. Sounds like it.'_ The voice was subdued.

"Sideswipe?" prompted Optimus.

"_It's..."_ The voice paused, seeming to ponder exactly what to say. _"I don't remember, but I can guess. Somehow, I crashed into Evelyn's vehicle, and the first thing I really remember since Heralxis is coming online... like this."_ One of Evelyn's arms raised slightly, as though to show off the strange organic body. _"The body was damaged. I couldn't move or see, but I could hear lots of strange things. I didn't realize there was another presence with me until Evelyn came back online."_

"You remember nothing about the Key?" queried Prowl.

"_Not until a 'Con showed up a while later and demanded I tell him where it was. Of course, I didn't know what Key he was talking about. He... well. Another 'Con said I was just..."_ Her mouth turned down in a thoughtful frown.

"... a little critter with a weird energy readin'?"

Evelyn stared at the black and white mech who was now grinning at her, visor seeming to glow somewhat brighter than normal.

"You!" She overcame Sideswipe's control briefly, not that the voice fought her for it. "I _knew _there was something different about you! You talk _just_ like him, and you don't do the rumble-laugh thing that everyone else does..." She blinked as though seeing the mech for the first time. "And you have _tires,"_ she added accusingly, pointing at the rubber rings mounted on his shoulders.

Jazz laughed at her, once more using a 'ha-ha' laugh and not the standard mechanical rumble. The voice was snickering at her, and Ratchet's typical smirk had taken on an amused tilt. Bumblebee was grinning, and she was certain that she heard more than one 'mechanical rumble' from various parties in the room. Her cheeks felt distinctly warm, and she crossed her arms over her chest with an exasperated sigh.

"Ya got me," said Jazz in a tone of voice that sounded mocking but was not. "I'd been workin' undercover as part o' th' 'Cons for nearly half a vorn. I'd worked my way into a five-mech team in one o' th' units workin' on findin' th' Key. I was... backup, a helpin' hand, whatever y' wanna call it. Didn't have anythin' t' do w' th' attack on Heralxis... certainly didn't know about Philotimus."

His grin faltered momentarily. "I _was_ th' reason the 'Cons followed the pair o' ya." He sounded apologetic and sent a glance toward Sunstreaker. "Couldn't let ya slip away. I didn't expect it to turn out th' way it did."

Sunstreaker made no move, though Evelyn thought his eyes might have dimmed for a moment. There was another moment of silence before Ratchet spoke up.

"You said that you'd found it," said the medic.

"I said it was _destroyed,"_ corrected the black and white mech. "But... yeah. I found it. It was next to... th' body." He held out one hand over the table, and something of gleaming gold dropped into his palm from thin air.

It was... or rather, had been... round, somewhat larger than a basketball, appearing no bigger than a shooter marble in the palm of the mech's hand. Its outside was traced with strange, geometric patterns reminiscent of those on a computer chip. A huge dent had pressed in nearly half of the object, cracks radiating outward from the indented area. Some pieces were missing altogether.

A wave of stillness spread over the room. Ratchet muttered something that sounded like a curse. Prowl's wing-panels drooped again, and Ironhide made a growling noise. They all looked... devastated.

Evelyn stared at the strange object, breath caught in her throat. The skin along her arms and neck prickled. She could smell the scents of smoke and ozone mingled with the damp musk of wet grass and falling rain.

"—know you took it?" Prowl was asking.

"No," said Jazz. "I couldn't let 'im know. He woulda' reported back t' the 'Cons. As long as he had nothin' to show, there was nothin' to report. That meant he was still searchin', though. 'S how he found Evelyn and Sideswipe."

"The life-energies of an organic body distort the readings of Sideswipe's spark," said Ratchet. "I can see a Decepticon making that mistake, thinking she was somehow hiding the Key. Lucky thing, too," he added, glancing at Evelyn. "He might have killed you out-of-hand, otherwise."

"So Torque doesn't know where the Key is," said Optimus.

"He prob'ly thinks we brought it aboard Metellus," said Jazz. "Which is th' truth, y'know, but he doesn't know it's slagged."

"That," said Prowl, "or he believes it is still on Earth."

* * *

**End Chapter Sixteen**

* * *

_**A little help on Transformer time (since I use it so much):**_

_The order, from least to most time, goes __**breem, joor, orn, vorn**__, like __**second, hour, day, year**__. Incidentally, they go in alphabetical order. _

_A __**breem**__ is appoximately __**eight minutes.**_

_A __**joor**__ is approximately __**six and a half hours.**_

_An __**orn**__ is approximately __**thirteen days**__ or __**two weeks.**_

_A __**vorn**__ is approximately __**eighty-three years.**_

_(I say 'approximately' because they all come out as something-point-something-something-something, and it's very tedious to type out and/or remember.)_

_So, __**breem, joor, orn, vorn**__ equals __**8 min, 6.5 hrs, 2 wks, 80 yrs.**__ Hope this helps!_


	18. Conversation

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** A different chapter style... A series of conversations during Metellus' journey to the mining colony of Teyonu 8. Hope it measures up!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Seventeen**

* * *

_Each person's life is lived as a series of conversations.  
_**- Deborah Tannen**

* * *

"What does it do?"

Glowing blue eyes turned toward her, and Evelyn abruptly regretted her out-of-turn query.

_Okay. Now I know how a cat feels when it's jumped onto a table during dinner._

_Bad kitty. Down._

"The Key?" asked Optimus Prime. To her relief, he did not seem bothered by the interruption, and Evelyn nodded, blushing.

"It's important," she said. "Important enough that you'd fight for it."

"Yes," replied the blue and red mech. "Very much so."

Red Alert broke in, frowning. "Do we have time to explain Cybertronian creations to a... civilian?"

"We're in deep space, Red," said Jazz. "Y' got somewhere y' need t' get t' in th' next orn?"

Red Alert sent a narrow-eyed glare toward the black and white mech. "We are in a meeting to determine the possible threat of the Decepticon _fleet_ following our ion-emission trail, and you want to give life-cycle lessons to an organic?"

"I doubt," said Ratchet wryly, "that they will be suddenly gifted with revolutionary new engines to bring them up our afterburners within the next breem. Optimus, if I may?"

"Go ahead, Ratchet. You would be the expert, I suppose."

"There are two ways that Cybertronians can be created," said the medic, looking toward Evelyn. "One is through protoforms: mass produced, basic bodies that can be upgraded and altered, little by little, according to a mech's base programming and needs. The other is specialized manufacturing. A mech or team of mechs designs and builds a body according to individual specifications. They are generally more durable than a protoform body. In both cases, one must acquire a spark to animate the shell." Ratchet sent her a sidelong glance as though to see whether or not she was following. In general, everyone else at the table looked thoroughly disinterested.

"There is a computer on Cybertron... perhaps 'computer' is the wrong word. Vector Sigma is sentient and far older than any living mech I know, though I still would not refer to it as a 'he'." Ratchet looked thoughtful for a moment. "In brief, it creates sparks. However, to access Vector Sigma, one needs a Key."

Evelyn glanced at the crumpled gold orb set atop the table before Jazz.

"There were five," said the medic. "Two have disappeared during the wars. The Decepticons had three... and the Autobots managed to steal one. This one."

She frowned. "Can't you repair it?"

Several of the mechs made low scoffing noises, including Sideswipe, and Evelyn had the impression that she had just asked a very dumb question.

"The Keys are... precious," said Ratchet. "They contain a formed-energy code that enables them to store and transfer sparks from Vector Sigma to the waiting shell. Our science, while it can read and decipher the code, cannot duplicate it. If a Key is damaged, there is nothing we can do."

* * *

_You know, when Ratchet asked Sunstreaker to give us a lift, I think he meant 'back to the medbay.'_

'_He's my brother. Come on, I never get to see him!'_

_You whine worse than my niece. Have I ever told you that?_

'_Frequently.'_

Sideswipe had taken over control of her body, settling her on the edge of the small table in Sunstreaker's quarters, feet dangling over the side.

_If we fall, he had _better _catch us,_ she warned.

'_Have a little faith. We're probably safer here than in that slagging medbay you like so much.'_

_I _like _being near someone who might possibly know what to do if I suddenly keel over and start turning blue._

'_Do you foresee that happening in the next hour?'_

_God forbid._

'_Then hush. I'm in the middle of a conversation.'_

"_You still doing okay, Sunny?"_

"Bored out of my processor," came the grim reply. The yellow mech shifted slightly, seated on the edge of his berth. "Work, refuel, recharge. Work, refuel, recharge. It's worse than the mining crew."

"_At least everyone here doesn't hate our circuits."_

"Yet."

"_... why do I call you 'Sunny,' again? Seriously, we should change your name. Stormstreaker, maybe. Or Gloombringer. Wait, wait, wait... I've got it. Cube-Half-Empty. Catchy, huh?"_

"Shut up, slagger."

"_You should come to the rec room more often. Most of these guys are okay. I wouldn't want to spend a shift with Gears or Huffer, for sure, but it's still a good group."_

"Anything after Axis Nebulon would look like a good group."

"_Hey, I'm being serious here. Were you paying attention at all during the meeting? They're intelligent. They're skilled. They're _competent. _Don't you think so?"_

The yellow mech gave a soft, noncommittal grumble.

"_After we get this mess straightened out, I wouldn't mind staying. Would you?"_

"Whatever."

* * *

"Are you upset?"

Evelyn glanced up at the medic before returning to the arduous task of washing her clothes: dunking her spare shirt and slacks in a cube of water and rubbing it between her hands until her muscles were too sore to do so any longer. "What makes you say that?"

The white and red mech frowned at her. "You're spending more time in here. You speak to Wheeljack and the others, but ignore me unless I address you directly. You haven't been poking through the storage bins or exploring the cabinets while I'm in the 'bay. Your heart-rate and blood-pressure increase in my presence... I can go on. Did I offend you somehow?"

Evelyn wrung excess water from the slacks in her hands before dunking them back into the cube, water splashing onto her shirt from the violence of the action. "Hmm."

Glowing blue eyes narrowed. "Is that a word?"

Evelyn weighed her words carefully. "I am... mildly... irritated."

"Ah. Your hormone levels are not in flux again, I hope?"

The voice snickered, and Evelyn blushed but at the same time suppressed a grin; the medic sounded somewhat apprehensive at the thought of enduring her during another of her 'cycles.' "No. My hormones are perfectly stable, thank you."

'_Your hormones are never "stable."'_

_And that's enough out of the peanut gallery._

"But you are irritated."

"Mildly." She massaged the waterlogged material steadily, thinking fondly of the laundry room in the basement of her apartment building.

"Over what?"

She huffed and released the slacks to drift to the bottom of the cube. She looked up at the frowning medic, damp hands hanging limply in her lap. "You know, we have medics on my planet, too. I've been to several. And frankly, I've never known a medic to welcome a patient out of the Intensive Care Unit with a punch to the head."

Blue eyes widened. "You're upset over that? He's fine. And he deserved it for doing something so slagging stupid in the first place."

"You left a _dent."_

The mech waved one hand dismissively. "His repair systems will heal it within an orn."

"That's not the—wait." She paused. "Wait. Heal? What do you mean, 'heal'?"

"I mean that his internal repair systems can take care of a little dent with no trouble. How do you think we could survive if we needed to go to the maintenance bay for every little ding and dent?"

"Well, to be perfectly honest, I'm used to dents staying dents until someone hammers them out!" She sighed, raising one hand to rub lightly at her temple. "I really need to learn more about you guys."

"I'll give you lessons on Cybertronian anatomy some other time."

"Thank y—No! Don't change the subject!" She glared at the white and red mech. "Honestly, do you treat all of your patients that way?"

"Honestly? Yes."

"That's horrible!"

"Evelyn, I have been a medic for a long, long, _long _time. I've worked on a lot of mechs, and a lot of the time, most of the injuries could have been avoided if the mech in question had exercised just a microchip's worth of logic. If a quick knock to the cranial unit will help them remember to _not_ be stupid the next time an opportunity comes around, then that's exactly what I'll give them."

"Forgive me if I don't put you down as my family doctor."

* * *

Sporting a basketball-sized dent high on one side of his helm, Bluestreak edged into the rec room with the air of someone who desperately did not want to be noticed. Evelyn patted his hand sympathetically.

"Heya, Blue!" called Jazz. "The Hatchet really gave ya a beauty, there, huh?"

Heads turned, glowing blue eyes fixing on the gunner's gray form. A low murmur began and grew into a raucous call of welcome, peppered here and there with friendly jibes. A large black mech appeared at Bluestreak's elbow, holding out a cube of energon which the gunner accepted with a sheepish smile.

"Thanks, Trailbreaker."

"Just glad to see the Doc let you out in one piece, kid." The larger mech gave the gunner's shoulder a friendly slap, causing Evelyn to grip Bluestreak's thumb to keep her seat as the mech's arm shuddered. "Come on over. Me 'n' Jazz were just settling in."

Bluestreak followed the black mech over to where Jazz was already seated. He set Evelyn down atop the table before claiming a seat for himself, and Trailbreaker strode over to the energon dispensers to retrieve another cube.

"Ya doin' okay, Blue?" asked Jazz. "I don' think I've seen Ironhide that fritzed with a prisoner in a long while."

"Aw, Jazz, I don't know what I was thinking. It was stupid. Ratchet's already screamed at me."

"Ya had 'im worried," replied the black and white mech frankly. "Ya had a lot o' folks worried. Screamin's just the best way th' Doc has t' say he's glad yer alright."

"Or a quick clobber over the head," muttered Evelyn.

Jazz sent her a grin. "Well, we ain't th' most normal bunch t' start with, y'know? Prowl's got a theory –Don't tell anyone I told ya, okay? Anyway, he's got a theory that ya can measure how worried th' Doc was by th' depth an' circumference o' th' dent."

Evelyn glanced up at the dent in question. Jazz frowned thoughtfully, and Bluestreak looked dubious.

"Bad," said Jazz, "but not life-threatenin'. Didja' see the dent Ironhide got after that skirmish in the Liiirk system?"

"It was very impressive," said Trailbreaker, settling into an empty chair. "Looked like someone had dropped a minibot on his head."

Bluestreak managed a tentative smile. "It was pretty funny," he admitted.

"Bet yer aft it was," said Jazz.

The table broke into a round of laughs and rumbles. Evelyn was glad to see the gunner's drooped wing-panels slowly climbing to their normal upright positions.

The cheerful mood was broken as a petulant voice rose over the standard muddle of overlapping conversations. "Opening a cell just because a 'Con spat some sparks. How glitched can you get?"

Bluestreak twitched. Evelyn glared at the speaker, a blue and red minibot seated one table over. She pinched her lips together to keep several choice phrases behind her teeth, but a silver, yellow, and green minibot seated with blue and red mech spoke up, voice emerging as a strong, resounding bass.

"Deactivate your vocalizer, Gears, before I do it for you. Bluestreak did what any decent mech woulda' done."

"What? Let the nice little Decepticon out of the nasty cell? Yeah, Brawn. Anyone would do the same thing."

"I said _mute it,_ Gears."

Bluestreak's wing-panels were drooping noticeably. He set down his energon cube.

"I think I'm just going to go back to my quarters," said the gunner. "Thanks, you guys."

"Anytime, Blue," said Jazz, grin somewhat diminished. "Glad t' see yer okay."

"You messed up, kid," said Trailbreaker, "but there's not a mech aboard what hasn't. Remember that."

"Thanks, Trailbreaker. See you guys." The gunner rose to his feet, and Evelyn did the same.

"You don't mind if I tag along, do you?" she asked.

The gray mech smiled slightly. "Of course not."

* * *

Seated on the edge of his berth in his quarters, Bluestreak rubbed ruefully at the dent in the side of his helm. Atop the small table set against the wall, Evelyn touched the side of her own head sympathetically, grimacing.

"Does that hurt?" she asked. "It was... quite a wallop. Very loud."

The gunner grinned sheepishly. "Oh, no. Ratchet wouldn't hurt me."

"Didn't sound like it." The _klang!_ of Ratchet's fist meeting Bluestreak's helm had startled her so badly that she had nearly fallen from her perch on the edge of one of the medbay tables. The subsequent rant _("And you ever do something that slagging _stupid_ ever again, Primus help me, I'll bolt you to your berth until the Third Golden Age!")_ had left her wide-eyed, hands pressed over her ears to shield them from the thunderous tirade.

The gunner chuckled, embarrassed. "Ah... Jazz says that's just how he shows he cares about us."

Evelyn scoffed. "Uh-huh. That's how most domestic abuse cases start."

"Say what?"

She huffed moodily. "Oh... forget about it."

'_Well, you sound grouchy.'_

She fumed silently. _Did you _see_ his expression? He was so confused when he woke up... then he saw Ratchet and Wheeljack and started to calm down, then _wham!

_Poor Blue. We call that the "kicked puppy" look._

The voice was silent for a moment. _'You're very... Help me out. What's the word you humans use? Territorial? Possessive?'_

_What are you yammering about?_

'_Your being _protective.'

Evelyn blinked, frowning, and held up one hand to forestall Bluestreak from interrupting. _I'm what?_

'_You're acting like a creator with a new sparkling.'_

Her mouth opened slightly in surprise. _Oh. Oh, my._

_I'm being _maternal.

'_That's it!'_ crowed the voice. 'That's _the word!'_

* * *

**End Chapter Seventeen**


	19. Genius

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, mild robot gore

**Author Notes:** Apologies for the long wait, especially since there were people who were expecting this chapter over a week ago. :sweat: Real Life has a habit of butting in at the worst times and often in the worst ways. I won't bore you with details, but here's the next installment of...

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Eighteen**

* * *

_**Van Helsing: **__You're a genius!  
__**Carl: **__A genius with access to unstable chemicals!_  
**- Van Helsing**

* * *

When the lights in the rec room dimmed to a pale yellow, Evelyn's heart felt as though it were trying its best to climb up her throat. She looked around frantically, wondering what was wrong, and stared as the mechs scattered throughout the room glanced idly around before returning to their conversations. 

She opened and closed her mouth, grasping for words. "I... ah, Jazz?"

"Yeah?" The black and white mech tilted his head, ever-present grin somewhat smaller than normal.

"This is... Well, this is probably a dumb question. When the lights change, doesn't that mean you guys should be, you know... doing something?"

"This?" The mech seemed to glance around. "Nah. Jus' means th' security level's been upped."

"Pardon me, but the last time this happened—" She tried, and failed, to avoid glancing toward Bluestreak. "—there was quite a bit more... activity."

"Well, when that happened, we had a shipwide alert go out over th' private comms. Everybody has assigned duties when somethin' like that goes down."

"I see." Evelyn relaxed somewhat, leaning her shoulders against Bluestreak's empty energon cube. "That makes sense. But why has security 'been upped'?"

"We're closin' in on Teyonu 8. We've jus' entered th' nebula."

"Nebula?" she asked flatly.

_Is he trying to be vague? _

'_It's probably a survival skill,'_ contributed the voice.

"No one told you?" said Bluestreak. "The colony's hidden inside of a nebula. There's plenty of energon ore to mine, since there's so much material scattered around, and the nebula masks it from sensor sweeps. But that means their sensors don't work so well, either, and ours won't be worth much now that we're inside."

"Isn't that dangerous?" asked Evelyn.

"Yep," said Jazz.

"And we can't go at full speed, either," added Bluestreak. "Too much debris. Metellus would be torn apart."

Evelyn did not claim to be a chess master. In fact, she had only the barest knowledge of the game, but she had worked through her share of algebraic problems involving trains and stations and differing speeds, and she was not an unintelligent person.

"The Decepticons will catch up," she said.

"We'll lose our lead, fer sure," said Jazz. "But they'll hafta slow down, too." He grinned at her. "Don't worry! Prowl knows what he's doin'."

Evelyn's stomach squirmed uneasily, and she stared at the scuffed surface of the table, frowning. _I hate this,_ she told the voice.

'_Which bit? I'm sure you have quite the list at this point.'_

_I'm _blind,she thought. _I can't stand this. I feel like I'm six again, sitting in my room, listening to the grownups argue out in the den. I know something's wrong, but darned if I know what._

'_Sure, you do,'_ said the voice helpfully. _'You're stuck in outer space with "giant alien robots." You've got me in your head until we get back to Earth and Doc Hatchet gets me in working order. And of course, we might not make it back to Earth at all because we're being followed by what others have described as a "Decepticon fleet" that is Pit-bent on blasting us into subatomic particles. I think that's it...'_

Evelyn's eyes widened. Her mouth gaped open. "You _jerk!"_

'_What? You said you wanted to know what was wrong.'_

"That doesn't mean you start listing everything! You don't... That's... You don't kick people when they're down, Sideswipe! Christ, what is _wrong_ with you?"

"Everythin' alright, Evy?"

Evelyn glanced up at the black and white mech from the corner of her eye, her cheeks tinted with red.

"Peachy," she replied, mouth pinched in a frown.

'_I was just—'_

_Shut up._

"Actually," she said, "I think I'm ready to go back to the medbay."

"That was fast," said Bluestreak. "Normally you spend about half a joor in here. Are you feeling alright? You might want to talk to Ratchet if your systems aren't running efficiently."

Evelyn spared a quick smile for the gunner. "Thanks, Bluestreak, but right now, all I want is a snack and a nap."

Bluestreak frowned, one eye narrowed in confusion.

Evelyn stifled a chuckle and rephrased, "Some fuel and a quick recharge."

"Oh. Alright then. I can take you back."

The gunner placed his hands atop the table, rising to his feet, and the entire room bucked and shuddered as a muted _boom_ resounded throughout the ship. Mechs all around let out startled cries. Evelyn yelped in surprise, her skull knocking painfully against the cube behind her, and spots of white danced before her eyes as both her hands clapped tightly over the offended area.

"Ow..." she moaned, eyes squinted closed.

The last rumbles faded into silence, and she opened one eye cautiously. All the mechs had risen to their feet, their eyes flickering in a familiar way.

"What in the world was _that?"_ she asked, rubbing at the back of her skull. _Oh, there's going to be a goose-egg there tomorrow._

'_It can't be an attack,'_ said the voice. _'No one's moving.'_

_I noticed._

Muted grumbling came from several sections of the room, and mechs resumed their seats, some going to the energon dispensers to retrieve replacements for cubes spilled in the confusion. Jazz and Bluestreak exchanged a glance.

"Wheeljack," they chorused.

* * *

Wheeljack's lab was only a few doors down from the medbay, along the route that Bluestreak habitually took when returning Evelyn from one of her visits in the rec room. Evelyn barely recognized the hallway outside the lab, and from behind Bluestreak, Jazz let out a low whistle-like sound that he must have picked up from his time on Earth. 

She covered her mouth and nose with her hands, squinting through the clouds of noxious gray smoke filling the hallway. Several panels along the wall had been dented outward, and Evelyn was at a loss to imagine how much force it would have taken to cause such a phenomenon.

The familiar tones of an irate medic drifted out the open laboratory door (which would likely remain open for some time seeing as both doors had also been bowed outward in a most spectacular fashion).

"Slagging son of a _glitch, _Wheeljack, what in the Pit were you thinking? _Were _you thinking? Maybe I should check your logic relays when I'm repairing your cranial unit, because Primus as my witness, this has got to be the _stupidest_ thing you have done since you came on board!" The word 'stupidest' was punctuated by a very painful-sounding _clang! _

"But, Ratchet..."

"No 'buts'! Testing an invention fueled by an unstable, untried chemical source _alone_ without _telling anyone_ is... is..."

"Unwise?" came Prowl's level, toneless voice.

"If that's the best you can come up with, then _you _might be due for a tune-up, too!" snapped the medic.

Bluestreak peeked around the edge of the doorway, Evelyn cupped closely against his chest. The pair let out similar sounds of surprise (Evelyn a muffled gasp, Bluestreak a low hiss) as they saw past the slowly-clearing haze of smoke and took in the ruins of the once-somewhat-organized lab.

"Sla-a-ag, 'Jack," drawled Jazz. "Ya really outdid yerself this time." The black and white mech propped one arm against the doorframe beside Bluestreak, looking over the gunner's wing-panel. "Met's going to be fritzed as all get-out, y'know that, right?"

Propped against the base of the opposite wall, Wheeljack raised his one attached arm in a feeble wave. Ratchet swatted the limb down and continued his work on the mess of severed wires and tubing that spilled from the inventor's other shoulder, dribbling blue and pink liquid. Prowl stood beside the pair, wing-panels held stiffly upright, frowning forebodingly.

"Are you okay, Wheeljack?" asked Bluestreak. "We felt that one all the way to the recreation deck!"

"And beyond," said Prowl.

Evelyn breathed shallowly past the ineffective barrier of her fingers, trying to inhale as little of the smoke as she could. Her throat and chest tickled warningly, and she huffed quietly to herself, eyes watering.

_Well, there are no sparks,_ she thought.

'_Doc probably sealed the wires first thing,' _said the voice. _'But yeah, he's up and talking. Coherency is good.'_

_The "no arm" bit is worrisome, though._

'_Well... That could take some time to fix. Especially if Ratchet's as low on supplies as he's been hinting. Still, nothing fatal!' _finished the voice optimistically.

"I'll be fine," said the inventor, one of his vocal-indicators flashing cheerily. "Just a minor setback."

Ratchet made an incoherent noise of fury, not unlike the sound Evelyn's father's truck had made when Evelyn was first learning to drive stick, and rapped the back of Wheeljack's helm sharply with the tool he currently held in his hand. _"Minor?!"_

"Ratchet..." murmured Prowl.

The medic made another grinding sound deep in his chest, eyes flashing nearly white. "Request permission to weld him to a medical berth until we're out of hostile territory!"

"Denied."

Jazz strolled past Bluestreak, walking easily over the scattered debris with near-silent steps, and stood close beside Prowl's shoulder, peering down at the medic and inventor, grinning as though this were all the world's best joke. "What in the Pit happened, Prowler?"

'_Prowler?' _asked the voice incredulously.

Evelyn stared at the pair. _A nickname, maybe?_

"A new sensor unit, I believe," replied the white and black mech, wing-panels twitching. "Wheeljack mentioned possibly modifying our sensors to see through the nebula debris. His prototype was..."

"Glitched?" offered Ratchet.

"With a little modification, it would work!" protested Wheeljack, raising his operational arm to gesture. "Sensors that read gravity wells instead of mass could possibly read much further into the nebula's interior—!"

"_Sit still!"_ snapped the medic, slapping the upraised arm back down to the inventor's side. "Let me get this sealed off, and then it's straight to the medbay! And see if I let you off the recovery list any time in the next vorn!"

"What _is _it with you and hitting your patients?" demanded Evelyn indignantly. She regretted her outburst immediately as she inhaled a lungful of the smoky air. She coughed, mouth filled with the taste of soot and ozone, and covered her mouth and nose again.

"Evelyn!" Ratchet pivoted to face the doorway, eyes wide. "Bluestreak, get her out of here! We don't know what's in this smoke!"

Eyes bleary with tears, Evelyn frowned, wanting to protest, but Bluestreak had obeyed with alacrity, and they were already moving swiftly down the hallway toward the medbay. The gunner's vocalizer was running at triple-time, and it took several moments for Evelyn to begin to translate his worried prattling.

"—okay, aren't you? I woulda' taken the other way around if I'd known. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Evelyn. Are you okay? You aren't hurt, are you? Ratchet's going to _kill_ me..."

Evelyn waved slightly with one hand, a 'settle down' gesture that went unheeded, as she attempted to overcome the annoying tickle in her throat, coughing quietly. They arrived at the medbay, and Bluestreak made a beeline for her room, depositing her gently atop the folded towels lining her bed. Wide blue eyes hovered uncomfortably close as the human regained her breath.

"Bluestreak, I'm _fine."_ She wiped at her eyes, blinking away the residual stinging from the smoke. "Good lord, Atlanta's air is way worse than that. It's okay, really."

"Are you sure?"

_His wing-things are twitching, _Evelyn noted curiously. _I wonder if he knows._

"Sure, I'm sure," she replied with a reassuring smile. "It'll take more than a little smoke to hurt me."

* * *

"How long?" asked Wheeljack incredulously. 

Ratchet paused momentarily in wrapping a strange, supple sort of metal over the open port where Wheeljack's arm had been severed. The medic glared reproachfully at the inventor. "I _told _you, I don't have the materials! The parts needed to reconstruct fine motor-skill servos and circuitry... Do you have any idea how quickly those run out? The best I could do right now is some sort of rough pincer-type replacement, and even that will take several orns."

"Orns...?" repeated Wheeljack, seeming to wilt where he sat on the edge of one of the medbay tables.

Perched on the edge of the next table over, Evelyn rubbed her own arm sympathetically. _Poor 'Jack._

"Don't look at me like that," scolded Ratchet. "It's your own fault for testing something like that without proper preparation."

"It's been in my lab for nearly a tenth of a vorn," protested Wheeljack. "I just... couldn't test it until we were inside a suitable nebula."

"So you choose to test it when we're at level two security alert, expecting to run into a battle any breem?" Ratchet's optics were dangerously pale.

"It would have helped us target any Decepticon ships trying to approach under the cover of the nebula."

"Which is a wonderful theory, and I would have helped you any way I could _after we had restocked our supplies." _One of Ratchet's hands retracted and was replaced by a welding torch. He set about securing the patch over the open port. "Grapple and Hoist are ready to spit chips over the repair job you've left for them in the hallway, not to mention the lab itself. And I'd watch out for the doors, if I were you."

Evelyn frowned. _Doors...?_

Wheeljack nodded dismally. "I thought as much. I'll help with the repairs any way I can."

"Oh, no, you won't," replied Ratchet, finishing his work on the patch and trading in the tool for his normal hand. "You're on the recovery list until further notice. The only place you're going from here is your quarters."

"But what about—"

Ratchet pointed toward the door. "You. Recharge. Now."

Wheeljack gave a soft rumble, pushing off the edge of the table. "You're a tough mech to reason with, Ratchet."

The medic drew himself up, insulted. "I'm reasonable. I convinced Prowl to postpone his _talk_ with you until after you've recharged, didn't I?"

"Something to look forward to," replied Wheeljack unhappily. He turned and made his way toward the door, movements somewhat unsteady due to the imbalance caused by his missing arm.

"I hope you feel better, Wheeljack," Evelyn called after him. It was a paltry offering of comfort, but the inventor sent her a smile-look: eyes squinted slightly in pleasure, ear-fins glowing a light blue.

"Thank you, Evelyn."

The door seemed to move aside a bit sluggishly as the inventor made his way out. Just as Wheeljack passed through the opening, the panel slid back into place far faster than Evelyn had ever seen, nicking one of the inventor's heels with a loud _clank!_ A muffled yelp of surprise came from the other side of the door.

Ratchet huffed to himself and set about wiping down the table and tools used in repairing the other mech. Evelyn stared at the gleaming silver door.

_What in the world...? _she thought.

The voice merely laughed.

* * *

**End Chapter Eighteen**


	20. Danger

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** And another long wait. To be honest, if you knew how many different drafts of this chapter I've gone through, not even counting the ideas that never made it to my keyboard, you'd be amazed. X3 Yah. I nitpick, and none of my cast wanted to cooperate. _But _I have perservered, and here we have the new update. w00t for me!

Also, someone _please_ shoot me for trying to write psycho!mech. I think he came off as a large, not-quite-so-twitchy Frenzy.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Nineteen**

* * *

_Oh pilot, 'tis a fearful night!  
There's danger on the deep.  
_**- "The Pilot" byThomas Haynes Bayly**

* * *

"What..." Ratchet paused in the doorway of the medical bay, optics narrowing as he took in the scene before him. "What are you doing?"

Evelyn and Wheeljack exchanged a glance, Evelyn grinning, before she giggled and he rumbled, and the human continued forward to place a simple silver nut atop the living-room-sized sheet of metal that had been marked in a grid of squares. There was already an assortment of silver nuts and black rubber washers arrayed upon the board like opposing armies.

"Go," said Evelyn, still smiling.

"What?" Ratchet's voice had morphed from warily curious to dangerously irritated.

"Go," said Wheeljack. The inventor took a black washer from the small pile at his elbow and eyed the board contemplatively.

"Let me remind you that this is the medbay, and I _am_ the Chief Medical Officer," said the medic. "If someone's going to tell anyone to _go, _it's slagging well not going to be the pair of you."

The voice snickered, and Evelyn laughed. "No, no, no." She kept her eyes on Wheeljack as the one-armed mech finished his deliberations and placed his washer on the board. "The game is called 'go.'"

"And you are playing games with my medical materials... why, exactly?" The white and red mech came over to stand beside the table and peer down at the board.

"Well, if 'Jack's on the recovery list, what else is there for him to do?" Evelyn picked up another softball-sized nut and eyed the game. "And everyone else is 'prepping,' which Sideswipe says is maintenance work to make sure they're fighting fit, so what else am _I _supposed to do?"

"So you nabbed pieces from the spare parts bins to make a game." The medic's internal systems revved.

"Yep," said Evelyn. She walked carefully across the board and placed her next piece. "I would have taught him checkers, but that involves moving pieces, and I'd probably end up kicking them all over the place. And for chess, you need a lot of different looking pieces." She smiled at Ratchet. "We've already tried Tic Tac Toe, but... well. That's not something to play against a walking, talking computer."

'_That's not something to play against anything with higher processing power than those washers.'_

"Right." The red and white mech frowned down at her imposingly before his systems vented with a loud sigh, and he turned and walked toward his office. "Just put everything back where you got it when you're through."

"Of course," said Wheeljack. He placed his next piece. "Evelyn... how exactly do you win this?"

"You play until there's no more room on the board, then you tally up points."

"Ah. I might have to get more washers."

Ratchet reemerged from his office with a small stack of silver datapads in his hands. "I trust I can leave the medbay for a half-joor or so without the two of you reducing it to rubble?"

"Prowl's already arranged a supply run?" asked Wheeljack.

"Supply run?" said Evelyn. "We're already at the base?"

The two mechs glanced down at her and then exchanged a look.

"We've been in orbit around the planetoid for nearly a joor," said the medic.

"We've been sitting still for _six hours?" _

"Orbit doesn't mean sitting still, Evelyn," said Wheeljack. "It's a controlled fall around a body large enough to generate a suitable gravitational—"

"I know what orbit is, Wheeljack," she interrupted. "I mean, the Decepticons have had _six hours_ to catch up with us? How far behind us were they?"

"We should have approximately another joor before they come within our current sensor range," said Ratchet, "which is why Grapple and I need to take the shuttle down _now_ to pick up the supply shipment while we still have time."

"Oh." _Just six hours... until..._

_Christ._

'_You might want to recharge while you have the chance,' _said the voice. _'There's no telling how long a battle can last. I guarantee you that everyone off-duty will be doing the same thing after they're done with prep.'_

_That's... _Evelyn's mind seemed to be running in circles, not unlike a small, high strung dog, yapping 'six hours, six hours, six hours!' _Yeah. That might be a good idea._

* * *

Evelyn sighed and rolled onto her side. _Yeah. "Good idea," my foot. _

'_You humans and your _moods,' scoffed the voice. _'All a mech has to do is initiate a subroutine, and it's straight into recharge. None of this tossing and turning.'_

_Well, do pardon me for being a lowly, chemically-based organic lifeform, _she snapped, throwing aside the towel covering her and sitting up. The room was cast in a faint twilight, not quite dark and not quite light. _How long has it been?_

'_Give me a tic. Let me check my chronometer... oh, wait, I can't. It's on _Earth.'

Evelyn drew her legs up to her chest and rested her forehead on her knees. "Bastard," she muttered.

She rolled her head slightly side-to-side, trying to ease the growing tension in her neck. A faint shiver seemed to run through the table and box beneath her, and she stiffened, head snapping up, gazing wide-eyed around the faintly shadowed room. After several moments of waiting, she relaxed marginally.

_Did I imagine that?_

'_Might be a shuttle taking off or docking,' _said the voice musingly.

_... You're probably right. _She lowered her head once more and frowned as she felt her stomach clenching uncomfortably. _I'm going to have an ulcer by the time this is through, I just know it._

'_What's that?'_

_An ulcer? It's when there's a hole in someone's stomach. You get them if you're really stressed for a long period of time. Pretty nasty._

'_Sounds... unpleasant. I guess you need to relax, then.'_

_Got a Valium? _she asked.

She barely had time for a surprised 'eep!' as the familiar wave of pins and needles washed over her frame, and she was suddenly lying on her back, gazing up at the featureless metal ceiling, muscles limp and unresponsive. Her eyes closed, and Evelyn struggled uselessly against the voice's hold for several moments before she fell quiet.

_You know, _she said at last, _when Ratchet rebuilds you, I'm going to have to ask him to install some sort of remote system. Then I can have a little remote control, and we'll see how _you _like being bodysnatched._

'_I'm being nice,' _Sideswipe protested.

_And I'm not screaming at you, am I?_

'_... point.'_

It was actually a very pleasant feeling, almost like floating. Her thoughts began to drift and scatter, flitting here and there like restless butterflies, settling briefly on disjointed images and ideas before moving on. _If I can't sleep, _she thought absently, _this is certainly a nice second option._

'_You're welcome.'_

After several moments, the pins and needles died away, but Evelyn remained where she was, loath to give up the delicious feeling of complete relaxation. Seconds passed, stretching into minutes, and perhaps even up to an hour. Evelyn had no way (and at the moment, no desire) to know.

Thus, it was a while before she noticed the noise.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she squinted against the faint prickle of pain in her head. Frowning, she raised one hand lethargically to rub at her forehead before resting the hand over her eyes. A faint keening noise tickled her ears, like the ever-present ringing noise of nearby mechs that she had long since learned to ignore but far harsher, almost gratingly so.

_Am I imagining that?_ she asked.

'_I can hear it, too. It's not your mind playing tricks.' _

They listened together, Evelyn's frown growing deeper.

_It's getting louder, _she thought. She removed her hand from her eyes and sat up, shaking her head at the persistent noise. _What in the world...? Wheeljack isn't tinkering again, is he?_

'_After the last "experiment"? Primus, I would hope not.'_

Evelyn sighed. _So much for relaxing._

She stood, pushing her bangs –now grown out far beyond their normal length– out of her eyes and blinking against the nearly-overwhelming keening shriek plaguing her ears. Movement to her left caught her eye, and she glanced over at the blank metal wall.

She stared.

A black metal face leered at her from where in protruded from the smooth, silver wall, red eyes glowing, and the face moved, pressing forward out of the wall, melting into the room, followed by broad purple shoulders and chest and black arms and dark hands and thick legs, all moving out of the wall as easily as though the silver metal were empty air.

"Gotcha'," hissed the mech, and a purple hand stretched out toward the human. "Gotcha', gotcha', _gotcha'."_

Evelyn screamed.

* * *

'_Screaming? _Screaming? _That's the best you can come up with?!'_

Evelyn's mind was filled with thoughts of an old, shadowed warehouse and billowing clouds of smoke highlighted with the red-orange light of flames and the deafening sound of metal titans at war. Her stomach lurched and her world tilted and blurred as the fist wrapped around her torso moved swiftly through the air without regard to her comfort. She bit her lip and prayed that she would not be sick.

She was vaguely aware of the familiar hiss of a door opening, and how strange was it that she could hear that now that the keening noise had faded...

"Evelyn!"

_Wheeljack, _her mind supplied automatically.

The strange mech let out a low, hissing cackle. "Can't come in, oh, no, no, no!" it jeered. "Didn't ask first!"

The room was lit with a brilliant flash of red-white light, and the air rang with the crackling rush of a weapon firing and the thunderous sound of metal falling upon metal and a garbled, static-laden cry of pain. The world twisted again, and they were no longer in the dimly lit private room but beneath the bright lights of the main 'bay. She had the briefest glimpse of Wheeljack lying prone, optics dimly lit, his injured shoulder scorched, before the black and purple mech strode toward the 'bay doors.

'_Frag it, frag it, frag it...!'_

The doors opened before them, revealing a hallway bathed in dim red light _(What a time for the doors to actually _work, thought Evelyn.), but just as the mech passed beneath the lintel, the doors snapped shut like the silver jaws of some great mechanical predator closing around prey, crunching into the armor of the mech's upper arms, wrinkling the metal. The stranger let out a garbled shriek peppered with curses and wriggled ineffectively against the trap.

"Not gonna' work," it hissed. "Can't trap whatcha' can't touch!"

Evelyn gasped in pain as the keening shriek of noise returned with a vengeance, and where the mech's hand touched her body, her flesh buzzed with static.

And... she fell _through _the hand.

She slid through the metal slowly, as though she were sinking through jelly or pudding, and she could feel it pulling against her insides until she was suddenly free and falling through the air, and her skin tingled as the voice took control.

'_I _hate_ phase generators!' _snarled Sideswipe, and her body tucked and rolled as she hit the floor.

Scrambling gracelessly to her feet, she pelted down the empty hallway as though the very hounds of Hell were upon her heels.

_What is that thing? _demanded Evelyn fearfully, hearing the mech cackle and feeling the floor shake with its booming steps as it followed her.

'_Talk later!' _

_And where the hell _is _everybody?!_

Her body cut tight to the wall and slid around the first corner they came to. Behind her, she could hear the steps falter as the mech had to slow down its considerably larger bulk to make the turn. Her breaths came in rapid, shallow pants that burned her throat, her heart throbbing frantically in her chest.

'_Gotta' hide,' _muttered the voice. _'Gotta' hide. Where—Slag it! Can't hide! Frag "weird energy signatures" to the slagging _Pit!'

Evelyn recognized the sooty streaks marring the walls; they were in the hallway leading past Wheeljack's lab. She saw where Grapple and Hoist had been working on repairs. Several sections of wall lay open, bundles of colored wires laid bare like the innards of a surgery patient.

'_That could work...'_

The pace of her steps seemed to grow even faster, and before Evelyn could offer even a token protest, her body lunged for the shadowed interior of the wall like a mouse darting for the cover of its hole. She burrowed past the cold wires, feeling several severed ends scrape along her arms.

_You _idiot! she yelled. _What if these wires were live?_

'_You don't leave live wires in a repair section. And _idiot, _yourself!'_

The interior of the wall was dark and stuffy, smelling heavily of metal and rubber and unwashed human, lit only by the glow of the opening behind her and the faint light of another hole in the wall several dozen meters down the way. She crawled forward, worming past clumps of wires and feeling the metal all around her shudder as the strange mech stomped to a halt a frighteningly short distance away, just on the other side of the metal wall plating that suddenly seemed like far too inadequate a shelter.

"Where are you _h-i-i-i-ding?" _it called in a singsong voice. "Little squishy, come out, come out!"

The keening noise returned, and her entire body jerked as she felt the 'pulling' sensation dragging through her legs.

"There you are," crooned the stranger.

The sensation disappeared, the keening fading into silence, and Evelyn's body twisted awkwardly as she looked over her shoulder at the opening behind her as the red light of the hallway was suddenly blocked. A giant hand was worming its way through the wires, reaching for her.

She scrambled further down the alleyway, and behind her something sparked and buzzed and crackled, lighting the shadowed interior of the wall with flashes of white, and the mech let out a cry of pain.

_I thought you said they weren't live!_

'_Well, _we _weren't cooked, were we?'_

Her searching hands suddenly encountered open air instead of metal floor, and she pulled back for a short moment. The mech was cursing loudly and at length, sounding not unlike a giant child throwing a tantrum.

'_A connection vent between floors...' _murmured the voice._ 'I'll say "I'm sorry" in advance.'_

_What—?_

Her body twisted around to sit on the edge of the hole in the floor, and her arms reached out to wrap around one of the thicker wires that disappeared down the hole, and she was suddenly falling through impenetrable shadow, feeling nothing but the wire sliding through her grip and the chill air rushing past.

The mech's voice echoed down the chute after her:

"Not gonna' stay and play? Can't get away that easy!"

The fall was not as long as Evelyn had feared, though the landing jarred her pretty badly. She lay limply upon cold metal and panted, shivering. The voice allowed her no time to recover, and she was suddenly crawling through pitch-black shadow, pushing past clumps of wires and feeling her way through the cramped, cold space.

_Okay, what the _hell_ was _that _thing?_

'_Decepticon,' _said the voice.

_I got that part. The red eyes and glaringly purple symbol were pretty obvious. It's the 'walking through walls' bit that has me a little _worried.

There was a low hissing noise, not unlike the sound of one of the doors opening, and suddenly there was light. Her body crawled toward the source, hampered by the clumps of wires littering the cramped space. The opening was an access port of some kind, and Evelyn dared not think how it had opened on its own and was merely unbearably grateful to be back in open air.

'_He's got a phase generator. Basic science: all matter is mostly empty space. Phase generators made a mech's atoms vibrate at such a rate that his matter can pass through other solid matter. Problem is... it causes lots of problems.'_

She was in a room that nearly rivaled the recreation deck's main gym room for size, but the space was filled with metal crates of all sizes, all labeled with the strange angular characters of the Cybertronian alphabet.

_Oh, the psycho-bot bit isn't just part of his lovely personality?_

'_Hah. Problem is, when he turns off the generator, his matter is _mixed _with other bits of matter, even if it's just air. It corrupts his systems, weakens his armor, damages his processing systems... They don't last very long.'_

Her body straightened, spine creaking and popping with the motion, and her eyes blinked to adjust to the brighter light. There was a long, glorious moment where she merely stood and breathed, feeling her heartbeat slow from its frantic pace.

_What now? _asked Evelyn.

'_Ideally,' _said the voice, _'this is the part where a squad of Autobots appear, armed to the optics, and save the day.'_

_And... how likely is that?_

Her body snorted and walked toward the center of the room to look around. The wall she had emerged from held the only entrance in the form of a huge double door. She sighed. _"Abso-fragging-lutely _prime."Her voice rose to a shout. _"Isn't there _anyone _still onboard who cares there's a Decepticon psycho-bot on the loose?!"_

Her body jerked and dropped into a crouch as the air rang with static and garbled voices, and suddenly...

"**Get a patrol to the starboard corridor..."**

"**Who's that?"**

"—**the slag is going on—"**

"_**Evelyn?"**_

"—**are you saying some organic managed to—"**

"—**need some support, Prowler. We got at least three 'Cons—"**

"—**hack our comms?"**

"**Evelyn, is that you?"**

The air shivered with the force of the mixed voices filling the air, and she straightened from her crouch.

"_The comm system." _A grin slowly spread across her face. _"Yes! Thank you, Metellus!"_

"**Evelyn?"**

"_Doc, is that you?"_

"**What the slag is going on?"**

"**Ratchet, get her off the comm. We don't need interference—"**

"_Somebody, send some back up _now!" she snapped. _"We've got a phase-capable 'Con somewhere near the medical deck, and Wheeljack is down!"_

"—**heading toward the storage bays. What the slag—"**

"—**heads up, Prahm! We've got some action headin' yer way—"**

"**Wheeljack?"**

"**Phase-capable?" **came Prowl's no-nonsense voice. **"How far gone?"**

"_Pretty slagging far," _replied the voice. _"I've heard saner talk from a arc welder."_

"—**get me an escort to back to the 'bay!"**

"**Where did you see him last?"**

"_The corridor outside Wheeljack's lab. No telling where he is now—"_

There was suddenly a loud, metallic _boom _from somewhere outside the door, like a large piece of metal falling to the floor...

... or a giant mech dropping down from the ceiling.

"_I take that back," _said the voice. _"He's on the deck _below _the lab. You guys might want to hurry."_

* * *

**End Chapter Nineteen**


	21. Battle

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** All righty, I am now _officially_ a dork on two counts.

One: I just spent the past couple hours downloading all the music to the Chipmunk Adventure, and I'm _still_ unbelievably thrilled. Moreover, I've been looking for it for months! X3

Two: Yesterday, I blew nearly $20 on a Sunstreaker Alternators figurine _and_ proceeded to spend four hours trying to get him transformed from car to robot and robot to car.

The dratted thing is marked for five years old and up. Any five year-old who can change _that_ thing without suffering an aneurism deserves a place at MENSA.

Hell, _I _may deserve a place at MENSA for managing it.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty**

* * *

_**Professor Jones: **__They're trying to kill us. __**  
Indiana Jones: **__I know, Dad. __**  
Professor Jones: **__This is a new experience for me. __**  
Indiana Jones: **__It happens to me all the time.  
_**- ****Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade**

* * *

_Back in the hole! Back in the hole!_

The comm-system shut off with an abrupt _click, _and her body darted toward the still-open access hatch, but she slid to a clumsy halt when her ears rang with an all-too-familiar keen, and the purple and black mech melted from the wall mere meters from her goal destination. Sideswipe cursed blackly and wrenched her body around in a frantic U-turn, sprinting for the nearest pile of crates... or to be more precise, for the meter-wide gap between two of the towering metal boxes.

Behind her, the strange mech laughed. "Poor squishy. Did I scare you?"

The gap was even smaller than it had appeared, wide enough for her shoulders and hips to pass with mere inches to spare. Evelyn was amazed and relieved at the lack of dust or cobwebs until she remembered that most dust was organic particles and that there could be no cobwebs where there were no spiders.

_No spiders, _she thought, feeling/watching as her body wriggled further into the dark space. _No spiders, but I'm being chased by an insane robot the size of King Kong. _

_I don't think that's a fair trade._

'_How do you think _I _feel? If I were in my own body, that glitch would be subatomic particles by now! But _no! _I'm stuck as some knee-high organic with all the firepower of a deactivated retro-rat!'_

The narrow aisle between the boxes came to an abrupt dead-end, and her body wriggled around to face the slim rectangle of light that was abruptly blocked out by a black shadow and a single glowing point of red.

"Little squishies like little places," muttered the mech. "Gotta' make it difficult, don'tcha?"

_He can't get to us, can he? _she asked.

She could almost hear the voice's thought processes speed up. _'Theoretically, no. He might be able to move the crates, but phase-capables are lightweights as a rule, so that's probably not going to happen.' _

_What about reaching _through _the crates?_

'_He'd have to reach in, unphase his hand, grab us, and pull us out along the opening. Not going to happen. Generally, their feet are the only parts that they can unphase while keeping the rest of their body incorporeal.'_

_Their feet?_

'_Can't have your spies falling through the floor every time they tried to take a step, can you? Though it makes walking through walls a bit of a study on timing and balance, I would think.'_ There was a pause, and the voice added, _'But I've only seen them in action a few times, and those few times I was trying to take them apart, not hide from them.'_

_Oh. No guarantees, huh?_

The mech was prying at the narrow opening with fingers that barely fit in the crack. It muttered a constant stream of nonsensical grumbles and curses as it pulled and tugged, struggling like a cat trying to follow a mouse that had hidden itself where the cat could not follow. Evelyn's heart skipped a beat when one of the crates shifted a few inches, but that was all the progress that the mech managed to make.

'_There's got to be more of them onboard,' _the voice murmured.

_What makes you say that?_

'_Can't you feel it? The floor is vibrating. There's fighting somewhere. And phase-capables don't get solo missions unless they're suicide missions.'_

_Not much of a career ladder, then? _she asked, her attention focused on the giant still struggling to reach her.

The mech hissed a garbled string of static and curses, and Evelyn's ears were filled with the familiar keening sound as the mech phased and swiped one arm through the boxes in a fit of pique. Her body flinched as the tips of his fingers 'pulled' through her.

_I wish he would stop doing that!_

Sideswipe apparently agreed, because her body pressed even further back into her meager shelter.

There was a thunderous explosion from elsewhere in the room that set her ears to ringing, and there came two more explosions in quick succession, and smoke roiled into the room, blocking out most of the light that filtered down to where Evelyn sat.

_Help? _she thought hopefully.

"Took long enough!" snapped the strange mech. "Stupid Backlash!"

"I might have been here sooner if the fraggin' doors would actually open!" rumbled a deep, bass voice. "What's Scattershot thinking, sending us on a sparked ship? Glitch."

"C'mon, c'mon, c'mon! Gotta grab an' get before we get got!"

'_What?'_

_What?_

"Quit your jabbering, Twitch. Have you found it or not?"

"... in the hole," muttered the phase-capable mech.

Footsteps shook the floor, and the light was once more blocked, one glowing red eye peering down at her. "Wonderful. Come on before the Auto-dolts catch up. Grab hold."

The phase-capable mech hissed and muttered, but there was the distinctive grinding shriek of metal on metal, and she could see the faintest outlines of four sets of fingers grasping the edge of the giant metal crate.

_Not good, not good, not good, _muttered Evelyn.

'_Duh, duh, _duh,' replied the voice.

The crate slid ponderously sideways, scraping against the floor, marring the metal. Her body followed the movement, pressing as far in the corner as possible. Once a sizeable opening had been achieved, an arm reached for her, painted blue and gray, but it fell short by several meters, fingers clawing at the air.

The newcomer cursed. "Further," he order tersely, and the crate began to shift once more.

"Pushy, bossy, pushy, bossy," muttered the phase-capable mech.

_Shouldn't we... run?_

'_To _where, _exactly?' _snapped the voice.

Regardless, when the hand returned, her body darted to one side and made a dash toward the opening. Inches before she reached open air, the world lit up as though blood-red lightning had struck nearby, splitting the air with an ear-numbing _crack!_ that nearly drowned out the familiar keen of the phase-generator. She tripped and tumbled to a limp halt just beyond the pile of crates.

A pile of blue and gray metal landed before her with a jarring crash. Sparks glittered and smoke billowed and fluids dribbled from the open port of severed wires and tubes where the mech's head was once attached. Evelyn gaped, sickened, as the body's arms and legs still moved jerkily, trying to gain purchase on anything, but a towering figure stepped forward through the smoke-hazed air, and Sunstreaker, eyes glowing nearly white, drove a metal quarterstaff through the mech's chest with a merciless _crunch,_ stilling all movement.

"_Hey, bro," _rasped her voice hoarsely. _"What kept you?"_

"Where's the other one?" The yellow warrior wrenched the quarterstaff free of the metal corpse, sending a spray of various liquids spattering across the floor.

Her body moved sluggishly, her head turning this way and that, but there was no sign of the purple and black Decepticon. Her spine popped as her arms pushed her into a kneeling position. _"Probably gone through one of the walls... or the floor. Who knows?"_

"Pit," rumbled the mech. He strode forward, kicking aside one of the dead mech's legs, and he reached down to scoop her up, quickly but not roughly. "Come on, before the rest of the party catches up."

Evelyn felt as though she had left her stomach behind upon the floor, but the voice did not seem bothered by either the missing organ or the fact that they were dangling from a giant golden fist.

"_Slaggit, Sunny, how many more are there?"_

Sunstreaker strode for the exit and, after a careful moment of peering around the doorframe, out into the marginally less-smoky hallway. "The last count was three unauthorized dockings. Came in under cover of the nebula, running silent."

"_Fifteen, then," _muttered the voice. _"At least. That's just prime."_

_Fourteen, now, _contributed Evelyn, and then she felt sick as the thought of the decapitated mech.

'_Hah. That's true.'_

Sunstreaker strode through hallways that were faintly hazed with smoke, lights still dimmed to a dull ruby red. The quarterstaff had disappeared, replaced by a mean-looking handgun, and whether intentionally or instinctively, Sunstreaker held her close to the armor of his chest.

_He moves like a cat, _she told the voice, and it was true. The yellow mech's steps, though not noiseless, were far quieter than she would have believed possible, especially considering that he was moving at a swift lope down the longer corridors, and she would have described his movements as sinuous or even graceful.

'_What, one of those fluffy Earth creatures with the big optics?' _The voice sounded disturbed by the comparison. _'Where the slag did you get that?'_

_... Nevermind._

The mech would halt at each intersection and carefully peer around each corner to check for danger, weapon held at the ready. At one such intersection, there was the sound of footsteps –not silent, but as with Sunstreaker, quieter than any mech should have been able to produce. Evelyn could make out several sources of ringing over the ever-present noise produced by being within the ship.

The yellow mech peered around the corner, sneered, and growled, "Fraggin' outmoded pieces of scrap. Did you take the scenic route?"

He stepped around the corner, and Evelyn saw a very surprised-looking Bumblebee, a grim-faced red and white mech she knew was named Inferno, a silver, green and yellow minibot whom she suspected was Brawn, and the familiar black and white form of Jazz.

"What th' frag're ya doin' down this far, Sunshine?"

"What do you think?"

"Ah. Dumb question. Beat us t' th' punch, then," said the black and white mech amiably, glancing toward Evelyn. "Saved us some time. Y'okay there, Evy?"

"_We're fantastic, all things considered," _said Sideswipe.

In an abrupt movement that startled Evelyn badly, the yellow warrior dumped her into Bumblebee's arms. The minibot fumbled for a second, his gun disappearing to wherever their weapons went, before he got a firm grip around her waist, her hands clenched upon his wrists.

"Hi," said Bumblebee.

Sideswipe grunted.

Sunstreaker was striding down the hallway in the direction he had originally been heading, gun in one hand, quarterstaff in the other.

"Keep moving," growled the warrior. "They're tracking Sideswipe's spark signal."

Bumblebee glanced down at Evelyn with wide optics.

Her shoulders shrugged. _"Weird energy signature," _said Sideswipe simply.

Jazz waved them forward with one hand, and the four mechs followed after Sunstreaker. Bumblebee took a moment to shift Evelyn into the crook of his arm, retrieving his gun from thin air.

"Prowl wants us t' meet up w' his group," said Jazz. "He's two decks up, keepin' up a blockade t' keep the 'Cons out of Met's core. Safest place fer yer brother."

"Noted," grunted Sunstreaker.

"Hang a left at th' next intersection. We'll take th' maintenance ladders up."

Sunstreaker did not reply, but when they came to the next junction, he turned left.

* * *

_I'm really starting to hate giant robots!_

'_Call me a hypocrite,' _grouched the voice, pressing her body tightly against the wall as the roar of gunfire and the _sheew sheew _of laser guns filled the air, _'but I'm really starting to agree.'_

The maintenance ladders had been an exercise in ingenuity... namely, several long moments of mechs standing around stupidly while they tried to work out a way to transport Evelyn that did not involve using their arms or simply plunking her on their shoulders and hoping for the best. Sunstreaker had grown more and more impatient with each second, until Evelyn (through Sideswipe) had meekly, embarrassedly suggested a 'piggyback' ride.

The climb up the ladder had been nerve-wracking. Seated astride Bumblebee's neck, hugging the minibot's forehead to remain steady, Sideswipe had thought the situation was hilarious. Evelyn had never been more mortified in her life, merely grateful that she had listened to Sideswipe's suggestion all those weeks (months?) ago and donned pants instead of a skirt.

However, upon reaching their goal level and following Jazz's directions toward Prowl's 'bunker', the entire group abruptly came under fire from behind, scaring twenty-years off of Evelyn's life and sending them running for cover in a side corridor.

Jazz was talking quickly to Brawn, something about Prowl's group being further down the hall and on the other side of the corridor from which they had just come and needing an alternate route. Sunstreaker and Inferno were pressed up against the corner, shooting back down the hallway at the unseen Decepticons and adding to the earsplitting roaring, shrieking commotion. Bumblebee peeled Evelyn from her perch atop his shoulders and set down upon the floor as the yellow minibot hurried to join the firefight.

The red lighting added an eerie aura to the scene as Evelyn, her body still under Sideswipe's control, pressed against the wall to present as small a target as possible.

'_Persistent glitches, aren't they?' _said Sideswipe as the shooting continued unabated for several long moments.

Jazz suddenly made a buzzing, grumbling noise and cursed, sounding not at all like his normal cheerful self. "They got Torque!" he called, raising his voice to be heard. "Prowl's seen 'im w' th' other 'Cons."

"Then what's keepin' them from pullin' out?" growled Brawn. "They got their buddy! They should be gettin' while the gettin's good!"

"They want Sideswipe, you undersized piece of scrap," snapped Sunstreaker. "They're probably all heading this way!"

'_Good ol' Sunny,' _drawled the voice. _'Always making friends.'_

Evelyn barely heard the amused comment, too focused on something far more frightening. Without control over her body, it was far easier to focus on listening...

_Sideswipe... _

The faint keening noise could barely be heard over the din of the battle and the combined ringing of so many mechs, but it was there.

And it was close.

Her eyes widened, and her voice screamed a hoarse _"Sunny!" _before all sound was drowned out with a keening shriek and the world reared up slam into her as a wall of purple and black that crushed breath from her lungs and sent flashes of light spinning across her vision in a dizzying kaleidoscope of stars.

'_I... hate... phase... capables...'_ slurred the voice.

The ceiling was moving above her, turning this way and that, almost as though it had a mind of its own, and she was treated to a first-rate view of the underside of a purple and black mech's jaw. The jaw in question was moving, quite rapidly, but she could not make out any noise beyond a faint buzzing in her ears. She blinked rapidly, feeling her pulse pounding rather painfully in her temples, and sound came filtering back.

"... gonna' shoot the squishy? Not very nice, not at all."

"Put him down, slagger!"

_Her, _thought Evelyn. _I'm a femme, damn it. _

_Woman, _she corrected herself belatedly.

Her lungs were hitching to draw in a full breath, and when she finally managed, the breath came as a hoarse, shuddering gasp that sounded horrid even to her dazed mind. She remembered falling during her first days of riding a bike and feeling this same hideous sensation. 'Knocked stupid,' her brother had called it laughingly, right before Lizzy had belted him around his ear and called for their mother.

"Not gonna' move?"

She did not like that voice.

"You really wanna' get outta' my way. Boss says, 'Bring me squishy.' Never said _how _squishy squishy should be..." and the bands of iron around Evelyn's chest tightened, provoking an embarrassing squeak from her throat before the pressure eased once more. "Thought so."

The ceiling was moving again, sliding past overhead, and there were more shadows at the edges of her vision that passed by swiftly. Things seemed far too quiet, and she realized that the omnipresent roar of gunfire had faded to silence.

"_Toldja' _I'd get it," said that same unpleasant voice again.

_Twitch,_ her mind supplied, and her brain seemed to shed its sluggishness and return to normal speed once more. _Aw, hell._

'_Pit,' _growled the voice.

She raised her head, muscles in her shoulders and neck protesting their abuse, and she felt dizzy all over again as she realized that her captor was carrying her straight toward a group of three strange mechs, all of them with red eyes, all of them with the familiar purple sigil, all heavily armed.

"Where's Backlash?" demanded the largest of the three.

The phase-capable mech grumbled and hissed. "Slagged. Big yellow bot got'im through th' core."

The three mechs looked past Twitch, their eyes narrowing.

"Scattershot wants us to meet up with his group," said the larger bot.

"They're not letting us go past without a fight," murmured one of the smaller mechs. "Scattershot an' his stupid plans. Going to get us all scrapped."

"Won't shoot if we got _this," _declared Twitch, hefting Evelyn in his fist like some sort of trophy, making her stomach flip-flop.

Evelyn found herself the focus of three pairs of glowing red eyes, and she shrank down within the mech's grip as though it would hide her from view.

The larger bot smiled an unpleasant smile. "How very true."

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty**


	22. Stress

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Woo-hoo... This, ladies and gentlemen, is what is known as a 'speedbump chapter,' a huge lump of an awkward chapter that one must struggle over in order to get to the rest of the story. Also known as "Another Chapter That I'll Probably Revamp As Soon As I Get The Chance."

Also, another big fanart week. Be sure to check my profile in the next couple days as I get the new links up. ;3

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-One**

* * *

_I'm through being polite, goddammit!__  
_**- Rose, ****Titanic**

* * *

The strangest procession in civilization's history made its slow, cautious way down the smoke-hazed, red-lit metal corridor. Twitch led the way, a giant robotic conductor, the three Decepticons following at his heels and Evelyn held before him with her arms pinned to her sides like some strange, living baton.

The living baton in question felt her chances of survival dwindling away to nothing as she realized two things: one, her backup –such as it was, being two average mechs, two midget-bots, and the psychotic twin brother of the voice in her head—was nowhere to be seen; and two, the procession was heading toward a group of six more Decepticons, the familiar black and red form of Torque among them.

_I'm dead, _she thought.

'_Sure looks that way,' _agreed the voice.

Evelyn blinked, and then she frowned. _You just lost _all_ your reassurance points._

"Found it, found it," chattered Twitch happily, hefting her like some sort of prize. Evelyn's stomach lurched at the motion.

A large green and blue individual, eyes obscured by a red visor, sneered at her and then looked toward Torque. "Is that the one?"

"How many knee-high bipedal organics with abnormal energy readings do you think they have running around their ship, Scattershot?" Torque's internal systems revved moodily, and he shifted his grip on the butt of his handgun. "Let's get out of here before we're scrapped, already."

"Not yet. We're going to win this battle before it even starts," said the blue and green mech. "We'll take out the ship core before the _Hazard_ comes in range."

'_Say _what?' asked the voice incredulously.

Various noises, from rumbles to sighs to groans, came from the other Decepticons, and a blue and silver individual let out a low growl.

"You wouldn't even be leading this mission if Turnabout hadn't been scrapped on Delta Max!"

"Couldn't have been that bright if he was scrapped, could he, Jounce?" retorted Scattershot.

"There's a difference," rumbled the blue and silver mech, "between getting yourself scrapped and getting yourself _and_ eighteen other mechs scrapped! This place is a deathtrap. Pitfall's team isn't answering hails anymore. We should be running while we've still got legs to do it with!"

"We've got their pet squishy now," said Scattershot with a nasty smile. "Practically a free pass to wherever we need to go... right to the core."

'_This guy's fritzed! No commander with a working processor would trade a ship _in the middle of battle _for an organic.'_

_Nice to know where I stand in the scheme of things! _retorted Evelyn, but she could not say that she did not understand.

And then the world twisted and flopped onto its side, and Evelyn's hair fell across her eyes in a tangled veil.

"What's th' fluffy stuff?" Twitch was muttering, tilting his hand this way and that, presumably to watch Evelyn's hair flop and sway from the motion. The human in question was feeling rather nauseous... and terrified... and furious. Her eyes narrowed. _That's it._

"Put me down!"

Her voice rang out ridiculously loud in the open corridor. Some small corner of Evelyn's mind gibbered incoherently in fear... but the rest of her simmered with indignant rage, and at the moment, she really _did not care._

There was a long moment of silence. The tilting movement ceased. Red eyes gazed down at her, burning bright as embers. The voice sat dumbly in the back of her mind.

'_You have _got_ to be out of your processor,' _breathed the voice.

_Quite, _she replied acidly. She felt her arms and legs begin to tingle familiarly, but she fought the voice's control back with strength born of sheer fury.

"I mean it! Put me down _right now, _you overgrown tinker toy! I have had _enough!"_

Twitch shook her slightly, the motion making her dizzy and nauseous but merely fueling her indignation. "Quiet, squishy."

"Is this Abuse The Human Day?" she demanded, voice still raised to just below an all-out shout. "And 'squishy'? What the hell? Is that all that you ignorant spawn of some mud-encrusted gene-pool can come up with? Ever hear of a thesaurus, you bumbling behemoth? I hope you trip and fall in a trash compactor!"

'_Oh, Primus, we are going to die.'_

"What's a _jeen-pool?" _muttered one of the other mechs.

"No idea. What the frag are _spaun?" _replied another.

"Be quiet!" snapped the visored mech, Scattershot.

"How about a resounding _'no'?"_ said Evelyn, now shouting outright. Somehow, her 'indoor voice' did not seem to apply to this situation, though the volume hurt her throat and the ever-present smoky haze made her chest tighten against the urge to cough. "Let me see if I can put it in Robot Speak for you. You have the processing power of a rock. You've got wires crossed somewhere important, pal, because if _you're_ the one in charge here, I sure as hell don't want to hang around your group. I don't think there's ever been an operation in the history of civilization as ballsed up as you've managed to make this one.You're screwed now, for sure, because when Sunstreaker catches up, he's going to rip you a new one and then rip you _apart!"_

Twitch was glancing at the other Decepticons uncertainly. The largest of the group, the one bearing a visor, frowned down at her, looming over the smaller phase-capable mech's shoulder.

"Mute your vocalizer, organic, before I come up with a more _permanent_ solution."

"So squish me already!" Her voice broke on the word 'squish,' but the words were flying from her mouth without conscious thought, growing louder and louder with each sentence. "Kill me! Drop me, kick me, use me for a freaking _basketball _for all I care. Put me down and I'll stand still for you, just to make sure you don't miss, you myopic excuse for modern metal-sculpture!"

'_What?!'_

The mech rumbled dangerously, holding out his hand, and Twitch dropped her into the waiting grip without comment, watching with wide eyes. The new mech gripped Evelyn below her arms, unlike the all-over 'cocoon-grip' of the smaller mech, and the human took in several deep breaths, appreciative of the new arrangement.

"I could crush you like a piece of tin," said Scattershot, tightening his grip warningly until she could _feel _her ribs creak and she squeaked at the discomfort. "Don't test me."

"You don't have the ball bearings," she rasped hoarsely, panting shallowly against the constriction of her ribcage, heart pounding. She huffed a weak, cynical laugh. "A corpse doesn't make much of a hostage either," she added. "Tends to piss people off, too."

The grip loosened marginally, and she drew in a deeper breath.

"Keep silent," said the mech.

_Moron, _she thought.

'_You or him?' _asked the voice.

"If you think I'm done, you've got another thing coming!" she yelled.

"I said _be quiet!"_

"I'm just getting wound up. How about a lesson in human curses? Let's start with something easy. Why don't you go f—"

"Evelyn, please be quiet."

Evelyn stiffened (inasmuch as one could when dangling from a giant fist) and craned her neck, peering over her shoulder and past one of the Decepticons at the familiar white and black form of Prowl. The tactician stood quite far down the hallway at a four-way junction, hands hanging empty at his sides, flanked by Hound who held a sizeable rifle-like weapon at the ready, and behind them were several familiar, welcome faces, Jazz and Sunstreaker among them.

She scowled. "What _took _you so long?"

A wave of pins and needles flickered through her body, faster than she had ever experienced, and suddenly she was hanging limply, passively in the Decepticon's grip, watching as the Autobot tactician's lips tilted downwards in the mildest of frowns.

His eyes... Through the frantic disorganization of her thoughts, she realized that there was something off with his eyes. They were paler than normal –though Hound's and Jazz's and all the Autobot's were as well,— and they were _flickering, _the light within them flaring and dimming the way that Ratchet's did when he was pulling information from the ship's databases, but the fluctuations were far faster than anything she had seen before. The light seemed almost to vibrate.

"You again," growled Scattershot, and all the Decepticons were holding weapons aimed toward the group of Autobots.

Prowl raised his empty hands slightly. "I'm here to negotiate."

The voice made a sound somewhere between a gag and 'Eh?'

"Negotiate?" The word tumbled clumsily from the Decepticon's mouth, and Evelyn thought idly that it was probably not a term he used often. The grip around her ribs tightened noticeably. "If you think you're getting the organic back, you need your relays checked."

"Is that so?" The white and black mech's voice was soft and toneless.

"We don't know how it's doing it, but we do know it's hiding a Key." Evelyn could hear the sneer in Scattershot's voice.

_But I'm not!_

"Your group is completely surrounded." Again, there was no inflection in the Autobot's voice; it was just a statement of fact. "And the other teams have been neutralized. Of course, we are aware of your approaching reinforcements, but we have time enough to deal with you first."

"I'll crush it before I'll hand it over to the Autobots. The Decepticons have two; we can spare this one."

"I'm certain they can spare you as well." Those flickering eyes traveled mildly over the arrayed Decepticons. "But you are wrong on one count. The organic does not possess a Key. It's only value lies in that our resident scientists find it... fascinating."

Evelyn's body twitched as she made a mighty effort to regain control. '_It'?!_ she demanded furiously.

'_Would you shut up?'_

_I'll show them "fascinating"!_

"You're lying."

"I am not."

The tactician held out one hand, palm up, and there was suddenly a glint of gold beneath the harsh red glare of the emergency lights, partially masked behind the curl of white fingers. Scattershot jerked slightly; Evelyn could feel the movement through his hand, and several muted rumbles came from the assembled Decepticons.

Prowl tilted his head ever-so-slightly, and he began to walk forward, steps slow and steady, hand held before him as though extending an offering. Hound remained where he was, still as a statue, internal systems humming loud enough for Evelyn to hear even at this distance, and Sunstreaker moved up beside the smaller green mech, his narrowed eyes glowing milky white through the red gloom of the hallway.

Prowl was midway between the two groups and coming ever-closer, walking along the edge of the hallway, steps slow and steady, almost hypnotically so. Scattershot's grip tightened around her ribs with each step.

"What are you doing?" demanded the Decepticon.

"A... trade." At this distance, one could see the dented, cracked orb held in the white and black mech's hand, and Prowl stopped. "The remnants of the Key for the organic."

Torque let out an ugly laugh. "The Autobots fight for vorns to obtain a Key, and you destroy it. Incompetence must be a prerequisite for your faction."

"I am not the one outnumbered on an enemy ship," observed Prowl.

The tactician stood with his shoulder nearly brushing the wall, and it looked _wrong. _The hallway was wide enough to accommodate three mechs side-by-side, and the tactician was limiting his ability to dodge whatever the Decepticons might choose to throw toward him, and it made no sense.

And then the air shifted, brushing lightly across Evelyn's face and neck, and she could hear a change in the standard muddle of whistling, ringing noises plaguing her ears.

Metal shrieked, and the hand gripping her shuddered and jerked, Scattershot bellowing in pain, his grip upon her ribs disappearing in an instant, and barely did she realize that she was falling before she was caught and cradled by... air?

She dangled, held in an invisible grip, and if there was one thing she would never forget in her whole life, it was the dumbfounded expression upon Twitch's face.

"Squishies can fly?" he asked.

And then all hell promptly broke loose, because the Decepticons realized that they had lost their hostage several key moments after Sunstreaker did.

There was movement and light, and there must have been noise as well, but she was deaf to all but the ringing in her ears and an ever-present impression of thunder. The world twisted and tilted and tumbled, and she was held firm in invisible hands as smoke and fire and metal whirled past like some strange kaleidoscope of war.

_I'm going to be sick, _she thought.

'_Please, don't,' _replied the voice, softly, tiredly.

She remembered yellow. There was a great rush of yellow and black and an impression of something huge and powerful passing close by. White eyes in a silver face, and the golden giant tore at the dark giants with ferocity that terrified and awed her, cracking limbs and ripping metal and sending pink and blue liquid flying through the air to spatter upon silver walls and floor. She felt a moment of terror as drops of glowing pink fell toward her, but they splashed upon an invisible wall and hung there, suspended in the air.

_Force-field? _she thought.

'_Mirage,' _said the voice quietly, and they were moving away from the battle, pressing close against the wall, sporadic fire from the Autobot line hissing past whenever a shot presented itself.

_Mirage, _she thought, remembering the blue and white mech from so long ago. _Oh, thank god for Mirage..._

There was white, too, a smaller mech who moved with the grace of a dancer against giants that stood taller and broader, but white hands moved swifter than she would have believed possible, seeking out the vulnerable points at the neck and joints, wing-panels upon his back held down and back like the ears of a furious cat.

They moved down the hall swiftly, metal corridor passing in a blur, and the clustered group of Autobot's formed a path before her as she approached and closed behind her as she passed. A familiar yellow minibot grinned at her before returning his gaze to the battle.

"Mirage!" called Bumblebee, voice ringing brightly over the thunder of the ongoing battle. "Great to see you... or not, you know."

The invisible hands lowered her to the floor, and there was the briefest flicker, granting her a glimpse of the familiar white and blue figure, before the mech faded back into nothingness.

'_Oh, slag,' _muttered the voice absently, and Evelyn staggered as the pins-and-needles sensation faded away. She sat down abruptly, blinking stupidly around at the forest of giant metal legs surrounding her. The red light and sporadic flashes of brighter colors hurt her eyes, making her squint.

_Sideswipe? _she called, alarmed.

'_I couldn't hold on any longer,' _said the voice, sounding distant... and apologetic.

_Couldn't "hold on"? You're not serious? You can't leave me like this!_

'_... can't help it.' _

_What do I do?_ she asked helplessly.

'_Stay out of trouble?' _suggested the voice. It seemed to waver, growing stronger and weaker and stronger again like an uncertain radio signal.

_Don't you dare go to sleep!_

''_m doin' my best, believe me...'_

"... Sideswipe...?" she asked. Her raspy voice was lost beneath the thunder of ongoing battles, and she shuddered. "Sideswipe? _Sideswipe!"_

There was the faintest murmur, and then nothing.

She suddenly felt very small and very, very alone. She was torn between the intense desire to press as close to one of the Autobots as possible and the debilitating fear that they would forget her presence during the battle and... misstep.

One of the mechs nearest to the front staggered and nearly fell, smoke blossoming from his knee. He was quickly grabbed by those nearest to him and shuffled back to the semi-sheltered area behind the main combatants. He slid into a sitting position at the base of the wall, and Evelyn recognized Trailbreaker.

'Sitting mech' equaled 'no squishing' in Evelyn's mind, so she scrambled nearer to him. Trailbreaker looked up from examining the damage to his leg as she approached.

"Evelyn?"

Faint wisps of smoke still rose from within the damaged armor covering his knee. Evelyn saw the faintest flashes of sparks within the opening and felt her heart jump.

"Are you okay?" she asked, voice cracking and popping like an old record, and then winced at her own stupidity. The wince turned into a startled jump when there was an especially loud _boom_ from the direction of the battle, and she darted a nervous glance toward the backs of the arrayed Autobots. "I mean, I can see—You're not okay. I know that you're hurt, but... You'll be alright, right? Shouldn't someone call Ratchet? I don't know what to do..."

"You sound like Bluestreak," said the mech amiably, and in probably the nicest gesture she'd had all day, the black mech reached out with one hand and coaxed her nearer to his hip, creating a small sheltered area between his arm and body. Evelyn blinked away the inexplicable burn of tears and leaned up against the warm metal of the mech's side.

Even though it would not be heard, she whispered a soft 'thank you' anyway.

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-One**


	23. Authority

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Alrighty! Good news, everyone! Cafei and I have been scheming away, and we're hosting the _**Juxtaposition Fan-Fanfiction Contest**_! Simply visit either Cafei's or my journal on DeviantArt to see the rules and dates, or see the advertisement in my profile. The winner will recieve a cameo in one of Cafei's upcoming Jux fancomics as well as a starring role in the sequel oneshot to Dreaming of Who?

Who says we don't know how to have fun? ;3

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Two**

* * *

_I am a flag officer on detached service during a time of war. Regulations give me broad authority in this matter.  
_**- Admiral Helena Cain, ****Battlestar Galactica**

* * *

The battle was short, but what it lacked in quantity it more than made up for in quality. Evelyn was shielded from some of the noise by the considerable bulk of Trailbreaker looming over her, but the combined force of the shrieks and cracks and booms and hisses and rumbles and constant _shiw shiw shiw! _of gunfire was well on its way to giving her a migraine of epic proportions.

_As if nausea and bruises and sheer, overwhelming terror weren't enough, _she thought unhappily and flinched as something flashed a brilliant white and the air shivered with the roar of an explosion.

"You sure find your way into some kinds of trouble," murmured Trailbreaker.

Evelyn could hear the words over the battle only because the noise seemed to resonate through the mech's body. She could feel the metal beneath her hands vibrate with it, and the voice seemed to come from all around her. She was reminded of laying with her head upon her father's chest, listening to him read whatever funny snippets he could find (or make up) in the newspaper, hearing the rumble of his voice from deep in his chest. She laughed softly, hands curling into fists, her nails sliding over the slick armor, and pressed her forehead against the metal.

"Weird energy signature," she said, raising her voice somewhat, and even then she was not certain that the mech could hear her. He did not answer, so perhaps he could not.

The omnipresent roar vanished so abruptly that Evelyn briefly thought that she might have fallen deaf. She stiffened, looking out on the narrow slice of the world visible past Trailbreaker's bulky form. The few mechs within her range of sight were lowering their weapons, relaxing their stances, and Evelyn realized that she did not recognize several of them. In fact, the few that she did not recognize were sending odd looks her way.

She heard Prowl before she saw him, rapping out orders as only a seasoned military officer could.

"Anyone with impairing injuries, remain where you are. Those with zero-gravity combat programming, follow Bumblebee and rendezvous with Optimus Prime in at the docks. Anyone with constant-uplink capabilities, follow Jazz to tactical. Binary, Parallax, and Brawn: stay and guard the prisoners until reinforcements come to transport them to the brig."

A chorus of 'yes, sir's and 'aye's echoed through the hallway, and there was a great deal of movement and a muddled chorus of thunderous footsteps as some mechs went this way and some that way. Yellow appeared in her vision, and she looked up in relief at Sunstreaker.

His armor was spattered with pink and blue fluids, but he seemed undamaged save for minor scrapes and dings. His eyes still glowed unnaturally pale, but she had long grown used to that. The tall warrior said nothing, merely looking at her for a long few minutes before turning away, glancing up and down the hall idly.

Prowl entered her field of vision, his armor a mess of pink and blue, though there seemed to be a leak of some sort in the lines of his neck, dribbling blue liquid down his chest. His eyes still flickered, and he regarded the yellow warrior with a displeased expression.

"Sunstreaker, I believe I ordered you to report to Optimus Prime."

"Funny. I'm not planning on reporting anywhere."

"Your files indicate that you are programmed for zero-gravity combat. You'll be needed in the next battle." If the twitching of his wing-panels was anything to go by, Prowl was not amused.

Sunstreaker glanced down toward Evelyn. "I doubt that."

"Sunstreaker..."

"I'm not leaving Sideswipe."

"You are an _Autobot soldier." _

What Prowl lacked in height, he more than made up for with sheer presence. His eyes glowed nearly as pale as Sunstreaker's, the ever-present flicker giving the impression of lightning. The wing-panels upon his back stood stiffly upright, flared wide, imitating the white and black mech's battle-ready stance, and spatters of pink and blue marred the pristine white metal of his arms and chest, thickest upon his hands, the blood of fallen enemies. His voice was low, level, and more intimidating than anything that Evelyn could remember hearing.

"You are an Autobot soldier, and you are serving on an Autobot vessel which will be coming under attack within the next breem. Your devotion to your brother is admirable, but consider this: should this vessel fall to Decepticon forces, Sideswipe _will_ be their first target, as we have just seen."

Sunstreaker stood still save for the faintest twitches of his fingers, as though he were resisting the urge to curl his hands into fists.

Prowl stepped forward, pressing into the taller mech's space, and carefully enunciated each syllable as he said, "Report to Optimus Prime."

The tableau seemed to be frozen, a moment cut from time, and Evelyn was certain that any minute, any second, the tall warrior would strike the tactician, and she really wished that Sideswipe were awake.

Sunstreaker's milky-white eyes narrowed, and his chin dipped in the something that could barely be called a nod. "Yes, _sir."_

The yellow mech turned and stalked away, the floor-plating beneath Evelyn shuddering from the force of his steps long after he had disappeared from sight. Prowl's stance relaxed slightly, wing-panels lowering.

"Okay, then," said Jazz, stepping up beside the tactician. "Now that yer done temptin' fate, are ya gonna' head up to th' 'bay, or do I hafta' take a detour an' haul ya there myself?"

Prowl sent a narrow-eyed glance at the other mech. "Did I not assign you to the tactical center?"

"Headin' there now," said Jazz, "just after ya tell me that yer on yer way up t' th' 'bay."

"_Yes, _Jazz." The tactician's wing-panels twitched, and he looked around at the other mechs. "Any wounded, with me. Someone help Trailbreaker. Jazz, _go."_

The black and white mech waved jauntily and set off down the hall. Prowl headed in the other direction, the few walking wounded following behind him.

Hound dragged Trailbreaker to his feet, propping his shoulder beneath the injured mech's arm to keep him upright. Evelyn moved away to keep out from underfoot.

"Primus, 'Breaker, did you add on extra armor plates while I wasn't looking?" joked the green mech.

"Don't I wish. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have a hole instead of a knee-plate." The black mech looked down toward Evelyn. "Well, you're going to need some help, too, aren't you?"

"Here. I'll take it." One of the strange mechs, painted blue and black, wires showing through a slash in his side, bent down and stretched out a hand toward her, and Evelyn shied backwards until her heels bumped into the side of Trailbreaker's foot, nearly sending her toppling backwards.

She caught her balance and scowled up at the nameless mech. _"'It'_ will stick with Trailbreaker, thank you so much."

From somewhere above came the familiar rumble of a mech laughing. The stranger looked stymied.

"Hey, I'm with the good guys here. Come on." The outstretched hand gestured briefly to the red insignia upon the mech's chest and twitched in a sort of 'come here' gesture. Evelyn's scowl darkened to a glare.

"Fightin' a losin' battle there, Overdrive," said Hound, amused. "Evy, this is Overdrive, from the mining colony. Overdrive, meet Evy, our resident organic. Treat her nice, or you'll be on Ratchet's bad side before you even meet him. Go on, Evy."

Her mouth tightened into a thin line. "Drop me," she said, "or squeeze me, or otherwise abuse me, and Sunstreaker'll be on you so fast your CPU will short-circuit. Compute?"

"Right, right, scratch the organic and die a horrible death. Can we go?"

_Smartass._

* * *

Ratchet had apparently anticipated their arrival, because as soon as the doors opened, his voice blared out into the hallway, thick with impatience.

"_If you can walk, you can wait! Make a line!"_

Evelyn's transport, Overdrive, twitched at the unexpected yell. "Who the slag is that?"

"That," said Hound, "would be Ratchet. Come on. You can drop Evy off and come back for a spot out here."

Overdrive followed behind Hound and Trailbreaker as they made their way into the 'bay. The red light of the hallway faded into the brilliant white lights of the medbay, and Evelyn squinted as her eyes adjusted. Two of the tables held offline mechs. Ratchet glared at them, currently occupied with the unconscious form of Gears. The medic took in Trailbreaker's knee and Evelyn's small form in one glance.

"Trailbreaker, third table. Evelyn, fourth, and then Hound, you and whoever-the-frag-your-friend-is can get out and wait your turn."

"Whatever you say, Doc." Hound helped Trailbreaker up onto the table beside the one Ratchet was currently using, and Overdrive walked over to the next one down and set Evelyn down quickly, bordering on hastily, upon the gleaming surface. He retreated with equal swiftness, disappearing out the 'bay doors. Hound left at a more leisurely pace, waving back at Trailbreaker.

"See you in a bit."

Ratchet glanced up at the green mech. "Send Prowl in when you go out, Hound."

"Sure, Ratchet."

"And you, Evelyn? Are you functioning?"

She sat down, sighing. "I'll live."

"Good. Trailbreaker, go ahead and shut down. I'll look at your knee in a moment."

The big black mech murmured something in the affirmative, and his eyes dimmed to a deep cobalt blue, the steady hum of his systems growing so soft that Evelyn could barely hear it. A moment later, the door opened once more, and Prowl entered.

"I need to return to tactical," said the white and black mech, frowning.

"Jazz commed to make sure I had a look at you." The medic looked up from his work, squinting at the tactician. His systems gave a displeased rumble. "And a good thing he did, too. Have a seat somewhere, and _don't move. _You shouldn't have even walked so far."

"The damage is minor," argued Prowl. "I can return later."

"On the contrary," said Ratchet icily, "you have shrapnel in several major lines in your neck. Are you familiar with what happens when little bits of jagged metal work their way completely into circulatory lines and are washed through a mech's internal systems?"

"I can simulate," said Prowl. He hesitated before he took a seat on the table next to Evelyn.

"Let me be clear, then. You _will_ sit on a table, and you _will_ wait until I can deal with you, and if you move one micron from that spot, I _will_ weld your aft to the table."

"I'm needed elsewhere."

"If I have to disassemble your systems to pick out little metal splinters, believe me when I say that you won't be seeing the outside of this 'bay for a long, long time, and be forewarned, disassembly procedures make me very, very_ unhappy."_

"Let someone else pick them out, then," said Prowl. "Using pliers doesn't require medical programming, surely."

"'Jack is unconscious, and Grapple and Hoist are busy. Sit down and mute it. _I'm busy."_

"I'm needed in tactical..."

"Unless you've invented a miniature, sentient pair of pliers programmed to seek out shrapnel..." The medic trailed off. He glanced toward Evelyn speculatively.

"What?" she asked.

"How strong are your hands?"

"Hands?" Evelyn was not slow on the uptake. She glanced up at the tactician, seeing the glittering shards of metal protruding from the lines of his neck. It looked vaguely like her father's old dog after a run-in with a porcupine. "I... could do it," she said, pushing away the tiredness that steadily encroached upon her body. "The stuff leaking out won't burn me, will it?"

"Lubricant and coolant," said the medic, wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed the towel over in a corner and moved to look at Trailbreaker's knee. "No energon. I wouldn't recommend drinking it, of course. There you go, Prowl. Give her a hand up, and _let me work."_

Prowl glanced dubiously at Evelyn. She shrugged and smiled, and his systems vented with a sigh-like noise. He offered her his hand and lifted her to his shoulder.

Evelyn moved carefully, straddling the mech's shoulder and gripping his collar-ridge tightly until she was steady. The blue and clear liquids did not seem to irritate her skin any, though they certainly made the slick metal of the mech's shoulder even slicker.

The shrapnel was small by mech standards, but to Evelyn, even the smallest pieces were the size of hunting knives. The largest was at least as long as a baseball bat. She reached for it first but hesitated.

"Ah..." She glanced at what little she could see of Prowl's face. "Don't move, okay? You might catch my hand or something, and I really, _really_ don't want that to happen, alright?"

"Noted," rumbled the mech.

She nodded, reaching for the first shard again, avoiding the sharp edges as best she could, and _pulled._ It slid out with far more ease than she had expected, most likely because of the slick liquid within the line... slick liquid that spurted out of the resulting hole briefly before the rubber-like material of the tubing sealed together. She blinked at the piece of metal in her hands. _Now what?_

She glanced over toward the corner where Ratchet had thrown the used towel. There was a pile of soiled cloths piled there, and bits and pieces of metal littered the floor beneath the occupied tables.

_That answers that,_ she thought, and she tossed the shard over the edge.

First, she pulled the largest shards, and when there were no large shards left, she started at the top and worked her way down. One small piece was firmly wedged into the tactician's neck, requiring several yanks until it abruptly pulled free, sending her off-balance and very nearly making her slip from her perch on the white shoulder. She caught herself by bracing her arms on Prowl's neck and took a moment to regain her breath and slow her heart-rate.

"Evelyn?" asked Prowl.

"Ah... almost done," she said. She shook her head and returned to work. Several minutes of pulling and tugging (and one very stained set of clothes) later, she sat back with a sigh. "Okay. I think that's all of it."

Prowl made a low sound of acknowledgement and lifted her off his shoulder, setting her back on the table. He rose to his feet.

"Ratchet?" asked the tactician.

The medic looked up, peering critically at the tactician's neck, and Evelyn suspected that he was seeing more than just the outside. _Do mechs have X-ray vision?_

"Acceptable," said the medic. "Go on, then."

Prowl's systems rumbled softly, and he turned and strode toward the door. His eyes had not ceased the strange flickering for even a moment.

"Hold it!" Ratchet paused in his ministrations to Trailbreaker's knee and strode toward the white and black mech who had stopped and now frowned at the medic in confusion. Ratchet grabbed the tactician by one shoulder and turned him to face the light, looking at the white and black mech's shoulder. Abruptly, the medic turned to level such a dark look upon Evelyn that the woman briefly wondered whether she needed to find some place to hide.

And then she saw what had caught Ratchet's attention so, a smudge of reddish-brown upon Prowl's shoulder armor that stood out starkly even in the midst of the blue and pink flecks marring the pristine white metal.

"Oh, hell," she breathed, and she looked down at herself fearfully, half-expecting to see a hideous chest-wound that had somehow gone unnoticed. Her shirt was tattered and stained, but months of daily wear and tear would do that. Her slacks had endured the same abuse, but there were little flecks of brown down the outside of one thigh that she did not remember from earlier. She followed the trail upward and looked at her unscarred arm.

With trepidation, she looked at the underside of her forearm. Her skin was streaked with red and brown mingled with pale orange where the liquid had smeared. Her worry lifted so abruptly that she felt almost giddy as she realized that, despite the mess, the actual cut was shallow and straight, barely over three inches long. She released her breath in a gusty, relieved sigh.

_Oh, well, that's alright then._

Thirty feet of white and red medic loomed over her, blue eyes glowing brightly in the shadowed face. "You're leaking organic plasma," said Ratchet. "Where are you injured?"

She held out her arm obligingly. "Just a little nick," she said, still irrationally happy over the harmless cut. "I didn't even feel it."

"Is there some way to patch it?" Blue eyes squinted at her arm, and her hand was grasped lightly between a huge, red thumb and forefinger, tilting her limb gently this way and that, provoking the faintest twinges of pain from the wound. "I have extra flexsteel from patching Wheeljack's shoulder..."

The pain was registering in her mind more and more, deflating her happy mood. She scoffed, pulling her arm free from the mech's grasp. "Are you insane? Please, say you're joking."

"Well, I can't _weld _it closed!" snapped the medic.

Images of red-hot pokers and ancient first-aid techniques filled Evelyn's head.

"Technically, you could..." she began, but then she saw the intrigued/contemplative look upon the medic's face and backtracked swiftly. "I mean, no! No, no welding, no cauterizing, not good at all, only for emergencies, life or death –which this is not—so don't you _dare!"_

"What do—Prowl, stop trying to glare a hole in my back. _You can go.—_What do _you_ suggest, then?"

"Mechs may have 'flexsteel,'" said Evelyn. "Humans have something called 'bandages.'"

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Two**


	24. Tense

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** It's been exactly a month since the last update. God willing, such a long wait will never happen again. Apologies to everyone who's been waiting for this.

We are winding down... sort of. Definitely over the halfway mark, possibly the two-thirds mark, but I'm not going to say how many more chapters there may be; whenever I do that, chapters inevitably split into doubles and triples of what I had intended. So... just, no.

Also, two more weeks until the end of the **Juxtaposition Fan-Fanfiction Contest**! There are still doodles that need matching oneshots. Don't miss out on the fun!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

_Unhand me, you mechanical moron!  
_**- Dr. Zachary Smith, ****Lost in Space**

* * *

When Evelyn awoke, the lights in her room were blazing in all their midday-sun glory, forcing pained tears from her eyes. She wiped the drops away and rubbed at the crusty remnants of sleep that lingered in the corners of her eyes, and then she blinked stupidly as she realized that, _Huh, I didn't know the ceiling was that high..._

She blinked again, taking note of the building-sized gray _something _looming to her left and the gleaming walls rising behind her and to her right. Pushing her far-too-long bangs back out of her eyes, she sat up, various bits and pieces of her anatomy protesting the movement. Her box lay upon the floor in the corner of an unfamiliar room, behind a giant... desk?

She squinted at the huge construction, taking in the equally huge chair set beside it, and decided that it was, indeed, a desk.

There was a minute shift in the ever-present mumble at the back of her mind. _'... where the slag are we?'_

_I'd tell you if I knew._

She scrounged up her duffel-bag after a moment's searching (in a corner of her box, hidden beneath a fold of towel) and quickly changed into her 'sort-of-but-not-really-that-much-cleaner' set of clothes. Her bare feet made soft padding sounds upon the bare metal floor as she circled around the desk, craning her neck and trying to shift her perceptions to imagine what it all would have looked like from a mech's-eye view. Her gaze caught upon the sizeable window set in the wall opposite the desk, and something in her mind went _click._

_We're in Ratchet's office! _she thought, pleased. A moment later, she frowned. _Wait, why are we in Ratchet's office?_

'_Let's ask him.'_

The door towered over her, an immense slab of gleaming metal that seemed as immovable as the Rock of Gibraltar. She had never dealt with a closed door before; hers had always been left open except when the 'bay was off-limits for some reason. The keypad blinked down at her, well out of her reach.

Little details of their escapades throughout the ship –the attacking doors, the wires inexplicably shocking the Decepticon Twitch but leaving her unharmed, the open access to the comm system—came back to her in bits and pieces, and her skin prickled.

_It's alive, _she thought, testing out that concept. _I'm riding in a giant, sentient spaceship larger than my hometown._

_Oh, Dick would love this._

The voice's snickering distracted her before she could feel more than the first stirrings of painful longing for home.

'_Primus, are _you_ slow on the uptake. I told you Cursor was a title when we first came onboard!'_

She shook her head, glaring at nothing in particular. _Pardon me if _'giant alien robot-ship-thing' _wasn't the first thing to pop into my head! Next time, do me a favor and spell it out._

The voice merely laughed. Evelyn attempted to wrap her mind around the fact that everything –the medbay, the rec room, the offices, the storage bays—were all part of a sentient being; she failed miserably and decided that it would take some time to come to terms with that concept.

_He saved my life._

'Our_ lives,'_ corrected the voice.

Sideswipe's words from so long ago came back to her: _you're supposed to get thanked when you help someone else out. _

She looked toward the keypad beside the door, a little square of metal lit by green and yellow lights set roughly ten feet over her head._ Can he see me?_

'_Yeah. Especially since this is part of the medbay; this place is probably riddled with sensors.'_

She drew in a steadying breath, but she still stuttered slightly when she spoke. "Th-thank you. For your help, I mean. He—I mean, Twitch would have caught me for sure if you hadn't... done what you did."

She had not really expected a reply, so she was not disappointed when there was no discernable reaction to her words. She glanced around.

"Ah, I'm Evelyn, by the way. I never said hello. Of course, I never knew I needed to say hello. We don't have ro—mechs on my planet, much less giant ships, much much less giant ships that are also mechs. I never really understoo—Er..." She coughed softly. "Evelyn," she repeated. "Evelyn Meredith Hughes, actually. Pleased to meet you."

Still no reaction. She was beginning to feel decidedly silly, her cheeks heating with a blush.

"W-would it be alright if I went out into the 'bay?" she asked. "I—"

The door slid aside with the standard pneumatic hiss, startling her. The soft clinks and hisses of ongoing repair work filtered into the office, overlaid by the not-so-soft shuffle of metal feet on metal floor. From this angle, she could see a pair of tables. The bay seemed far more settled than the last time she had been in there.

She walked forward, stepping over the little trough in the floor where the door's base would go, still throwing curious glances at the doorframe, and then she paused beneath the lintel.

"Oh!" She looked back toward the keypad. "And I hope your lab-areas feel better. You were pretty mad about that, I remember. And I guess I would be, too, if someone messed around with my innards."

The door jerked slightly, inching toward her before withdrawing back into the wall. She jumped, scampering out of the way of the door-track.

"Sorry!" She really _was_ blushing now. The door slid closed behind her. "I forgot. 'No standing in doorways.' Got it."

There was a short pause.

'_... you are so weird.'_

"Evelyn?"

The woman turned so swiftly that she nearly tripped over her own feet. "Wheeljack?"

The white and gray mech stood beside the furthest table upon which sat the familiar form of Bumblebee. The inventor's lone hand held a tool of unknown type, and the yellow minibot's left arm gleamed with distinctive silver patches that were indicative of recently repaired injuries.

"Wheeljack! God, I thought you—but you're okay! You're really okay?"

"That little glitch just knocked some systems out of synch. Ratchet fixed me right up." Wheeljack's eyes seemed to glint with mirth. "I warned you about the doors."

"I get it _now," _she said, breaking into a jog to cross the vast expanse of floor, littered with bits of metal and sparse spatters of fluid, that separated them. "Don't you think you could have been more explicit about the insanely huge intelligent alien ship?"

Bumblebee rumbled merrily. "We all thought you knew!"

"It's common knowledge," said Wheeljack, his own voice overlaid by soft mechanical laughter.

He set down his tool and offered her a hand up as she drew near. With ease that would have boggled her mind several months past, she slid onto his hand, enduring the standard flip-flopping of her stomach as she was lifted to mech-height, and clambered from his palm to his shoulder, settling in comfortably, hand firmly gripping his collar-ridge.

"How are you, Bumblebee?" she asked. From this angle, she could see the main site of the injury, a muddle of silver marring his upper arm near the shoulder.

"It was just some severed wires. I'm lucky; 'Jack fixed me right up."

Beneath her, Evelyn felt more than heard the displeased rumble of Wheeljack's systems.

"Lucky," muttered the inventor, his head-fins abnormally dim. "Most everyone else has to wait for Ratchet."

"Don't be like that, 'Jack." The minibot tilted his head toward his arm, the limb hanging with unnatural stillness at his side. "You did a bang-up job, and soon's everyone's cleared out, Ratchet'll have you fixed good as new."

Wheeljack rumbled again, using the tool to somehow pop open a panel on Bumblebee's outer arm, allowing Evelyn a glimpse at bundles of wires and tubes and mechanical whatnot within the minibot's shoulder.

"What's Ratchet been doing then?" she asked.

There was a stiff sort of pause, causing the hairs along her arms and neck to prickle.

"Wheeljack?" she prompted.

"Not everyone was as lucky as 'Bee," said the mech. "We've got several who'll be in forced stasis for a few orns." He stiffened, turning his head to glance at her out of the corner of one eye. "I'm sorry about moving your berth, too. We needed the room for Inferno."

"Inferno?"

"Ratchet's with him now. Can't you hear him?"

Evelyn blinked. She looked over toward the closed door of her (former) room, trying to hear anything over the whirring of the two mechs' systems and the standard ringing of her ears. Sure enough, there was an extremely soft muttering sound barely loud enough to hear. She briefly wondered how loud Ratchet was actually speaking to be heard beyond the barrier of the sound-muffling door.

_Good grief._

'_What about Sunny?'_

Obligingly, and feeling a little concerned herself, Evelyn asked, "What about Sunstreaker?"

"In and out joors ago. He had a few scrapes and some damage to one leg, but I patched what I could. He's on the callback list."

_Callback?_

'_Temporary fixes until a medic can fully repair them.'_

_Field dressings, you mean._

'_Yeah, that.' _

Wheeljack had set down the tool and was reaching into the opening in Bumblebee's armor, fingers moving past wires and tubes after some unseen goal.There was a soft _snikt_ sound, and Bumblebee's arm twitched. Evelyn frowned.

"What was that?" she asked.

"Sensor receptor node," said Wheeljack, replacing the yellow panel. "Disconnecting it keeps damage signals from interfering with other processes."

"Like anesthesia, you mean?"

"Anesthesia?"

"It, ah, keeps you from feeling things. You made his arm numb so you could work, right?"

"Right," said the inventor approvingly. "I haven't studied human designs as much as I'd like, but from what I understand, those wires here would be like your nerves. They lead to the sensor node in the shoulder, which runs to the central systems... which we'll talk about another day. I think Bumblebee is ready to refuel, aren't you, 'Bee? You're good to go."

"Bet on it," replied the minibot with a smile. "Actually, why don't you come along, Evelyn? If I know Jazz, there's a party in the rec room right now."

'_All right!'_ chirped the voice.

"Party?" asked Evelyn dubiously. A large group of mechs jostling and cheering did not sound like a very safe place to be. "How much of a party?"

"Anyone and everyone who wants to come," replied Bumblebee cheerily. "Well, anyone not working with the transfers between here and the colony. You know, supplies, wounded, prisoners... Anyone else is sure to stop by, though."

"I... don't think that's such a good idea..."

'_Oh, come on! Sunny might be there. You can't just sit here and watch the one-armed wonder weld everyone's scrapes together.'_

_Being squished doesn't sound like much of a party._

Bumblebee tilted his head slightly in a motion Evelyn had labeled as the mech-version of a shrug. "That's alright. It's bound to go on for at least an orn, if you change your mind."

* * *

_We're lost, aren't we?_

'_No, we are _not.'

_This is what I get for listening to you. "Let's go to the rec room! Let's go see Sunny!" Oh, but Sideswipe, do you know the way? "Of course, I do! Don't you trust me?" Frankly, Sideswipe, no, but I'm going to be a fragging _moron_ and let you talk me into this anyway!_

'_You said "fragging"!'_

_Sideswipe!_

'_Hey, this looks familiar...'_

Her body, firmly under the control of the maddening tingling hold of the voice, took a right turn down a side hallway. Evelyn felt more like a mouse than ever before, and Sideswipe must have felt the same since he kept close to the base of the wall.

_Of course it looks familiar! _she snapped. _It's long and gray and completely featureless, just like _every other hallway onboard.

_I _told _you we should have waited to have Wheeljack take us!_

'_If your processor had _any _decision-making capabilities whatsoever, we could have gone with Bumblebee.'_

_I. Did. Not. Want. To. Go._

They walked for several more minutes. The maintenance level was echoingly empty; they had not seen a mech since leaving Wheeljack in the medbay.

'_Hey, you hear that?'_

A faint thrum in the deck plating beneath her grew steadily louder, and Evelyn felt her spirits lift as the thrum became a faint _dom dom_ and then the familiar _boom boom _of giant footsteps.

_Oh, thank god, we're saved._

A tall figure, black and white and red, vaguely familiar to her, rounded a corner ahead of her and turned toward her as though purposefully seeking her out. The tingling faded away, and she backed up a step or two as the mech _(What_ is_ his name?)_ strode for her purposefully, eyes narrowed fiercely, and a black hand swept down toward her.

The world spun around her, air rushing dizzyingly past her face and arms, and Evelyn's fists clenched ineffectively against the slick metal of the mech's hand as she squeezed her eyes shut against the all-too-familiar vertigo that came of being 'swept off her feet'... so to speak. There was suddenly a gaping void where her stomach had once resided, and her extremities tingled from the adrenaline rushing through her.

The movement halted, and she squinted one eye open cautiously. Two giant, pale blue eyes loomed before her, entirely too close for comfort. Warm air drifted over her from vents in the distinctive red helm, accompanied by the bass thrum of the mech's internal systems.

When she was certain that her innards were going to stay put, she dared to speak.

"Well," she said, gasping a bit, "that was entirely uncalled for."

The mech did not reply, setting off down the hallway with brisk, purposeful strides.

'_He looks fritzed,' _murmured the voice, perplexed._ 'What did you do?'_

_I was going to ask _you_ that. I don't even know his name!_

'"_Alarm" something. I don't know.'_

"Excuse me..." she said. "Er, sir?"

The mech did not so much as slow his steps.

"Look," she tried, "I'm really sorry, but could you point me toward the rec room? I got a little turned around. Sir?"

Still no response. She blinked in disbelief.

_He's ignoring me!_

"Hey! _Hey! _S.O.S. or whatever your name is! Excuse me!"

And to her utter shock, he squeezed her.

Not for long, and certainly not as hard as any of the Decepticons (or even Sunstreaker) had, but sheer surprise left her hanging wide-eyed and docilely silent in his grip, heart racing.

A minibot –Brawn, she thought—gave the pair an odd glance as he passed them at a junction in the hallway.

"Hey, Red Alert," said the minibot, turning and peering curiously at the bewildered Evelyn. "Everything alright?"

The white, red, and black mech grunted and continued on his way.

* * *

Evelyn never thought she would feel such relief to return to the dull confinements of the medbay; she was wrong. As Red Alert passed through the doors of the 'bay, a sense of 'oh, thank you, dear God, I'm safe!' seemed to overcome her, and she looked around for a friendly face. 

Wheeljack glanced up from wiping down the last of the 'bay tables. "Red Alert? Evelyn?"

"Where's Ratchet?" rumbled the red, black, and white mech.

"He's working on... ah, I'll get him. Okay? Just a tic." The one-armed mech set down the cloth on the table before turning and heading into the secluded room that had once been Evelyn's. Muted voices drifted out, and Evelyn felt certain that she heard one mutter of _'slaggitall'_ amidst the low jumble of noise.

Moments later, Wheeljack emerged once more, accompanied by a mulishly displeased Ratchet who flicked one wrist, retrieving a towel from thin air, and wiped his hands, all the while regarding Evelyn's captor with narrowed eyes.

"Do you mind?" growled the medic. "I'm a little busy at the moment."

Red Alert's internal systems revved loudly. Evelyn felt the vibration travel through the hand holding her, making her skin itch.

"When Optimus assigned you to care for the organic," growled the white, black, and red mech, "you agreed that it would be in the company of a responsible Autobot or confined to its habitat throughout its stay. Don't let me find it running loose again, or it _will_ come up on report."

Evelyn found herself dumped unceremoniously into Ratchet's hands, and Red Alert turned and strode for the doors, systems still revving moodily. Eyes narrowed and mouth turned down in a slight frown, Ratchet watched the security officer leave, the doors snapping shut behind him.

"This," said the medic, "is why I _hate_ having Inferno in for repairs."

"Are you okay, Evelyn?" asked Wheeljack, leaning in to peer at her.

She blinked and shivered. "He squeezed me!" she said incredulously. Her mind seemed to be having trouble wrapping around that fact.

Ratchet twitched. "Are you injured?"

"I... no, but... Ratchet, he _squeezed_ me! I thought the Autobots had a strict 'no squeezing' policy. Did I do something to make him mad? Did I break a rule? I don't understand!"

The medic rumbled softly. "You didn't do anything. He's just running a little hot right now."

'_A little?'_ demanded Sideswipe, sounding just as dubious as Evelyn felt.

Ratchet moved toward one of the storage bays lining the wall, setting her down lightly on the counter and reaching for one of the many containers stored within the cabinets. He proceeded to rifle through it, picking out various mechanical bits and pieces.

"Is that a polite way of saying his systems need a serious look-over?" she asked, sitting down and folding her arms over her stomach. "Because I think something in there is glitched and _how."_

"Ratchet's just saying that Red's a little high-strung sometimes," said Wheeljack. "Having Inferno out of commission just bumps his sentinel programming up a notch or two."

"Or ten," muttered the medic, replacing the container in the cabinet and pulling out another. "In short, he's running on high-alert. Just stay with one of your little group or in here until he settles down. What were you doing by yourself anyway?"

"We've been to the rec room enough. Sideswipe thought he could find the way."

'_Oh, yeah, peg it _all _on me.'_

_Yes, because it's all your fault! _she snapped. She frowned abruptly, something within her mind going _waitaminute..._

"What does Inferno have to do with anything?"

"They're bonded," said the medic, as though that should explain everything.

There was a long pause broken only by the soft _chink_s as Ratchet sorted through little metal pieces. Evelyn turned the sentence over several different ways in her mind.

"... what?" she managed at last. "You mean... _married_ or something?"

Ratchet paused, his eyes flickering briefly, before he sent her an odd look. "Hardly. Seeing that we reproduce through a manufacturing process, Cybertronians have nothing like your reproductive... obsession." His mouth pinched into a strange frown.

"Then what's a 'bond'?"

"A good way to explain it would be... balance, a pair of sparks that are perfect counterpoints for one another, or a group of sparks that mesh well." His voice fell into the steady, matter-of-fact cadence that meant he was in lecture-mode. "It allows mechs to communicate without comms, provided they're within reasonable distance of one another. Some bonded mechs claim to have instinctive knowledge of the other's status or location. Of course, there's never been a thorough study."

"So Red Alert is acting nutty because he's worried about Inferno?"

"He's acting 'nutty' because Inferno is in deep-stasis and his spark-signal is muted."

Evelyn regarded the medic bemusedly, feeling vaguely as though her brain was a mere degree from overheating. Wheeljack saw her confusion.

"It's like... Think of two mechs calling each other," said the inventor. "One sends: 'Where are you?' The other replies: 'I'm here.' Red Alert's spark is calling, and he's getting no reply."

"... okay..." she said. _I think I'm getting it... maybe._

_'Doubt it.'_

"So," continued Ratchet, "his systems log it as an error, and it's making him edgy. In all likelihood, he doesn't even realize he's acting differently. It's not something programmed; it's much deeper. Some bonds grow out of a long friendship, and there are others that... exist from crea... tion..."

The medic trailed off, staring blankly down at the counter. There was a long moment of silence, and then his eyes narrowed to deep blue slits.

"I," said Ratchet, his systems rumbling irritably, "am an idiot. Ratchet to Sunstreaker."

There was a low _click_ sound, and then the familiar growl of the golden-yellow mech seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

"**Sunstreaker. What do you want?"**

"Report to the medbay."

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Three**

* * *

**Authors Notes (cont'd): **Okay, the site is doing its level best to eat any spaces between normal and italicized bits of text. I think I caught them all, but if not, I apologize, and I'll hunt down all the little slaggers when I've got the time. Thanks for your understanding:3**  
**


	25. Interlude: Officers

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title:** Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Okay, the deadline for voting at **Metellus Cursor** has been extended to the fifteenth! Please don't forget to vote. Right now we have an average of fourteen votes per story, and there are _seventy-four _group members! D:

Oh, lots of new fanart links (I'm finally caught up! **:happy dance:**) and links for the Geek-To-English Dictionary (art by Cafei, definitions by me, insanity by both X3) are up in my profile now. Be sure to pay them all a visit!

We're taking a hop and a skip out of Evelyn's point of view for this chapter, because (simply put) there is _so_ much that she does not know is going on. So, here we have a little section for every Metellus officer. Enjoy!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

_The Point of View Gun conveniently does precisely what its name suggests. That is if you point it at someone and pull the trigger, they instantly see things from your point of view. It was designed by Deep Thought, but commissioned by a consortium of intergalactic angry housewives, who after countless arguments with their husbands were sick to the teeth of ending those arguments with the phrase "You just don't get it, do you?"  
_**- The Book about the Point of View Gun, ****The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy**

* * *

Bumblebee was nearly through with his much-shortened break time, working his way through his third cube of energon, when he felt something tapping on his leg. 

"Bumblebee?" The little organic femme, Evelyn, peered up at him.

The minibot stared in surprise before smiling. "Evy! You decided to come after all?"

She made the odd little hiccupping sound that he had learned was her version of laughter. "Not much choice. Sunstreaker's in the 'bay, and Ratchet said he needed 'distance' to test something. Wheeljack dropped us off. It's not much of a party, though."

The rec room was much quieter than normal, a mere handful of mechs sitting around refueling. Most of the tables were empty, and the conversations quiet and stilted.

Bumblebee rumbled ruefully. "Yeah. There was a bit of action earlier, but we're working double-shifts and half-breaks to get everything back in shape."

"Oh." She looked from him to the table and back again. "Ah, little help?"

The minibot grinned and lifted her obligingly to the tabletop. He took extra care with where and how he gripped, too; the Metellus sitrep uplink had included a message from Ratchet that basically melted down to _'She's damaged. I'm fritzed. Be gentle or suffer the consequences.'_

Bumblebee wondered if the femme had any idea just how many of the sitrep messages had revolved around her since she came onboard.

"I didn't know Sunstreaker had been that badly damaged," he said after she had settled herself on the table across from him.

"Not damaged. Ratchet had some sort of inspiration and called him down."

"Huh. Must've been something really interesting for him to take on another project with all the repairs. Of course, he and Prowl are masters of multitasking."

The rec room doors slid open and admitted a pair of mechs, one silver and one a dark orange. Bumblebee's eyes sought out the red Face of Primus sigil upon their chests, an automatic action, but the dark orange one was already heading toward the minibot's table, his silver companion following belatedly in his wake. As they drew nearer, Bumblebee realized that the orange mech was looking at Evelyn.

Bumblebee smiled in welcome as they drew to a halt nearby, looming over him.

"Hello. What brings you here?"

The dark orange mech twitched slightly, pulling his gaze away from an uncomfortable-looking Evelyn.

"Huh? Oh. Your CMO kicked us out."

The yellow minibot could not help a small chuckle. "What?"

"We're on prisoner transport detail," said the other, glowering around at everything and nothing. "One of the 'Cons needed basic repairs before transport, so we were supposed to escort him to and from your repair bay. We got him there, and your CMO kicked us out. One of your guys pointed us here."

"Ah. Ratchet doesn't like healthy mechs in his 'bay," said Bumblebee with another chuckle.

"Didn't expect that you'd have the alien in here, though," said the dark orange mech, peering at Evelyn once more. The femme muttered something that Bumblebee did not quite catch, but the displeased tone carried very well to his audio receptors. "We've heard about it from the others."

"Er, yes." Bumblebee could not completely hide a small frown. "This is Evelyn. She's a human from a place called Earth." Evelyn regarded the two strange mechs warily, and Bumblebee hurried to make introductions, "Evelyn, this is..."

He trailed off, looking at the Teyonu mechs questioningly.

"Binary," said the silver mech. He nodded at his companion. "And Driveline."

"Binary and Driveline," repeated the minibot.

"Pleased to meet you," said the femme.

"Does it really remember names?" asked the orange mech, leaning close to the organic and nudging lightly at her with one finger. She rocked away from the touch, but he seemed to pay no mind.

"Excuse me." The femme scooted away from the mech's fingers.

"How long did it take you to teach it to talk?" Driveline peered down at the little creature, intrigued, and he reached to nudge at one of her arms. "And what's the stuff it's wrapped in?"

"Aw, c'mon. Just leave her alone," said Bumblebee. "She's had a tough enough time, what with the 'Cons and all."

The mech ignored him, and Evelyn slapped at the probing fingers and rose to her feet, stalking toward Bumblebee's side of the table, rubbing at her head and muttering under her breath. Before she could take more than a few steps, Driveline scooped her up.

Evelyn's loud, indignant squawk mingled and jumbled with Bumblebee's cry of "Hey!" as the minibot scrambled to his feet.

"Looks a lot like a mech, doesn't it?" said Driveline, addressing Binary, who shifted uncomfortably. "Even has five fingers on each hand. Wonder where its fuel tank is..."

"Does this look like a petting zoo?" cried the femme, squirming in his grip. "Let go!"

"Driveline, just put it down," said Binary, optics roving over the rest of the room. Bumblebee wondered if either of the pair knew exactly how many mechs' absolute attention they had right now. It was not the friendly kind of attention either, more the 'to shoot or not to shoot' attention.

_At least Sunstreaker isn't in here, _he thought to himself and cringed at the resultant mental image. "Driveline, please, just leave her alone."

Evelyn dangled well out of reach of Bumblebee's arms.

_Some days I hate being short, _thought the minibot unhappily.

_:Okay over there, 'Bee?:_ inquired Hound from over by the energon dispenser.

_:Ask Evelyn,: _replied the minibot, processor running through possible scenarios to get the Teyonu mech to release the little organic.

_:You _are _a commissioned officer,: _said the scout pointedly. _:And this is your unit's ship.:_

Bumblebee repressed a grimace.

_:I don't think he'll see it that way,: _he replied, and then added privately to himself, _I can't even get the other minis to listen to me without a fight._

Backup arrived in the form of a soot-smeared Bluestreak fresh off repair duty.

"Hey! How would you like it if a Supreme scooped _you_ up and swung you all around?" Wing-panels twitching with agitation, the gunner strode up to the larger mech and reached around, grasping Driveline's wrist and twisting in a way that Bumblebee recognized as a standard movement to disarm one's opponent, his other hand quickly sweeping Evelyn away from the Teyonu mech. "You should be grateful Ratchet doesn't ever come in here! He'd rebuild you as a grease gun for _sure!_ Or worse!"

Driveline stared down at his empty hand for a moment before glowering at Bluestreak. "I wasn't _hurting_ it. Primus, you'd think I was ripping it apart!"

"Driveline, maybe it's time to pick up the 'Con." Unlike his companion, Binary was well aware of the chilly atmosphere in the rec room.

"The CMO said he'd comm—"

"Driveline, we should _go."_ Binary grasped Driveline's shoulder-strut and pulled, and the dark orange mech seemed to suddenly notice the narrow-optic gazes of the few other mechs scattered through the room.

"Oh, fine," he muttered, following sulkily at Binary heels. There was a moment of stillness after they exited before everyone returned to their drinks.

"Thank you, Bluestreak," said Evelyn.

Bluestreak rumbled at her and set her lightly atop the table.

"Are you okay? You didn't look too happy, but neither did most anyone else, huh? Not everyone has Ratchet to keep them in line, I guess. But that disarming technique worked! I've never used it with anyone but Prowl, and he always expects it, you know, during sparring. I must have done something right, though, huh?"

"I'm glad," said the femme. "I'm certainly not going to complain about Sunstreaker being grabby again. At least he doesn't call me 'it'." She frowned, then added grumpily, "... much."**  
**

* * *

All appearances to the contrary, Jazz was very much aware of the situation at the other end of the rec room, and if his observations were correct (which they usually were), so was the majority of the Metellus-based Autobots present in the room. He could practically feel the tension draining from the air as the two Teyonu mechs exited. 

He also noticed when the door nicked Driveline's heel on his way out.

His grin widened.

_Our own little mascot, _he mused. _Who'd have thought?_

The bulky green form of another mech loomed up beside him.

"Heya, Hound."

"You know what's going on, don't you?" The scout slid into the seat next to the saboteur.

"What're ya on about?"

"This." Hound tilted his head, seeming to indicate nothing and everything at the same time. "Every capable mech working double-time. The colony mechs are practically leaving contrails behind them from racing back and forth."

The black and white mech snickered.

"_Jazz..."_Hound frowned at him. "Seems to me that we're in a rush to leave, and Metellus still isn't fully repaired; Optimus would never allow that without reason."

"Ah, true enough." His grin faded, and he lowered his voice. "You remember when th' 'Con got out o' his cell?"

The scout's systems grumbled in displeasure. "Hard to forget."

"He got a message out. We've been tryin' t' decode it."

Hound's optics narrowed, and he lowered his own voice. "I take it you managed."

"Yeah. 'Bee got it half an orn back or so."

"Classified?"

"Nah, nothin' like that, just... keepin' it quiet." He turned his head, glancing toward the corner table where the little organic femme was speaking with Bluestreak.

There was a short pause.

"Bad?"

"... troublin'." Jazz took a sip of his energon, checking his chronometer. Less than a breem until he was due to join the repair crews working on Metellus' damaged hull and innards. "Nothin' against th' Autobots, technically."

"Technically."

"Well, it certainly wasn't a 'Hi, how're ya doin'?' call. He sent out coordinates an' a planet-resource report for Earth."

A pause.

"Oh," Hound murmured, staring down into the depths of his energon cube. Then, "... Primus."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"All this to keep them _away_ from there, too. Does Optimus have a plan?"

"So far? Get her home, get Sideswipe back where he belongs, and head t' th' Hub t' take it before th' Council."

"What are the chances of a protection order, you think?"

Jazz made a noise of disgust.

"You know what th' Council's like," he said. "Everythin' calculated. Calculated gain... calculated loss."

Bluestreak's voice came sharply across the comm channel. _:Jazz!:_

"... a calculated... loss?"

Jazz felt as though several of his primary circuits had fused upon hearing the soft, high-pitched voice from behind him, and Hound's wide optics clearly stated that he felt the same. The black and white mech turned to see Evelyn cupped in Bluestreak's hands, and the expression upon the femme's face was enough to send guilt surging through his processor.

_:I'm sorry!: _commed Bluestreak, distressed. _:I'm so sorry! 'Bee had to go back on shift, and she wanted to talk to you two. I didn't know—:_

_:S'alright, Blue,: _soothed Jazz.

"You're..." The little femme's strange optics, normally roving here, there, and everywhere to take in her surroundings, were perfectly still, fixed upon his faceplate. "You're going to let the Decepticons... destroy Earth?"**  
**

* * *

"Is this really necessary?" 

Red Alert continued his careful examination of the crate's contents, optics narrowed as his systems let out an annoyed rev he made no attempt to muffle.

"It is standard security procedure," he replied to the green and gray mech standing beside the crate-laden hover-platform.

"Well, I know _that,"_ replied the other, then added in an undertone, "I've just never seen standard security procedure performed molecule by molecule before."

Red Alert ceased his work long enough to bestow an especially displeased glower upon the Teyonu mech.

Pausing momentarily as he was passing by, Hoist rumbled nervously. "Er, Backlog, why don't you head back for another crate? Just... leave him to it."

"That sounds—"

"_Standard security procedure," _interrupted Red Alert, "states that the one responsible for transporting the cargo container onboard remain here until the security check is completed."

Red Alert's audio sensors caught what might have been a mutinous mutter of _'Primus slaggit', _but the security officer had turned back to his task, sorting through the containers in the last crate one-by-one. It was all very unorganized, miscellaneous wires and tubes, alloy cubes to be melted and formed into panels or parts as needed. His scanners covered each item, searching for anything out-of-place, be it an energy signature or a chemical reading.

"What is this?" he asked, pulling out one of the smaller containers, filled with bits and pieces that made no sense to him: shaped metal, but made of alloys far too weak to have any proper use; several small stones polished to bright sheens; lengths of woven material; and many other things.

"Oh." Backlog peered at the odd assortment of items. "Some Laakii ships passed by several orns back and wanted to trade for fuel. They were desperate, but this was all they could trade."

"You gave energon for... trinkets?"

"Wavelength wanted to help them. We couldn't give them much with the mine output so low, but they got enough to make it to the next installation."

Red Alert nudged at one of the metal ornaments. "Am I to understand that this is an attempt to make up for the pathetically small amount of energon you've given us?"

"Wavelength's giving you all he can," retorted the green and gray mech indignantly. "We'll need enough for ourselves to evacuate when the mines give out, you know."

_That_ caught Red Alert's attention. "So soon?"

"The science team estimates less than a vorn," said Backlog grimly. "Much less. Be grateful we had any energon to spare at all. _That—"_ He nodded at the box of trinkets. "—is a gift from Wavelength, just in case you come across someone who'll give something more useful for them."

Red Alert began returning the various items to the crate. "No species fool enough to give energon for such useless things will have discovered space travel."

The other mech snickered, paused, and sent the security officer a not-quite-insulted look, but Red Alert was moving down the line to the next hover-platform, and Hoist was suddenly there again, directing Backlog on where to deposit his cargo amongst the growing stacks in the storage bay.

* * *

_:Prowler...:_

There were few mechs who could convey warmth, sneakiness, worry, sheepishness, and any number of other things in just one word. Jazz was one of those mechs.

Seated in his office, looking over mounds of datapads that obscured the top of his desk from sight, Prowl rumbled quietly to himself in irritation.

_:Is this important, Jazz?:_

_:Er, kinda',: _replied the other. The messages came over a private channel, and Prowl wondered what the saboteur had gotten himself into that he did not wish the other officers to hear. _:Sorta'._ I _think it is, anyway. Cat's outta' th' bag, man.:_

Prowl paused, frown deepening. He very deliberately added another line of notes to the current datapad before speaking.

_:Explain.:_

_:I had a little glitch o' th' vocalizer in th' rec room,: _said the saboteur, and there was the source of the sheepishness. _:Evelyn knows.:_

It was very little information to go on, but Prowl's creator had gifted him with one of the fastest, most efficient processing systems known to Cybertronians. He opened a comm channel to Optimus Prime and relayed the information. The commander was surprised and not a little troubled at the news.

_:She was not pleased, I take it,:_ said Prowl to Jazz, obligingly using the private channel.

_:Let's just say ya can really tell she's been hangin' around th' Hatchet. Bluestreak's takin' her back t' th' 'bay.:_

_:Have you informed Ratchet that you've been terrorizing his guest?:_

A sharp, garbled mix of mechanical noise filtered down the link; it translated roughly to _'hah!'_

Prowl added another line of notes, sending a comm to Hoist that the latest inventory reports for basic Supreme-type repair parts matched the request list sent to Teyonu 8; he received an acknowledgement and shifted one of the many datapads stacked upon his desk to a smaller pile. On the officers' channel, Optimus asked for his opinion about the possibility of a protection order for Earth, and he calculated the possibilities.

_:Very well, Jazz. Consider it noted. I've informed Optimus.:_

_:Thanks, Prowler. Didja' tell Ratchet?:_

_:And deprive you of that pleasure?: _Prowl allowed himself a small smile as he sent his conclusions to Optimus. _:Why would I do that?:_

_:Aw, c'mon...:_

Ratchet's signature abruptly registered as active on the officers' comm channel.

_:And here's the sharkticon himself,: _sent Prowl privately to Jazz.

_:All right. I'm done with the work on the last Decepticon,: _said the medic. _:They're taking him to meet Ironhide at the shuttle-bay.:_

_:Already here, Ratch,: _came Ironhide's gruff rumble. _:Him an' th' rest o' th' 'Cons. They'll be off-ship in less'n a breem.:_

_:Noted,: _said Prowl. _:What about the supply transfer?:_

_:On schedule,: _replied Red Alert crisply. _:Nothing suspicious to report so far.:_

_:Just had the last of the repair parts delivered, too,: _said Ratchet. _:Replacements for the lab haven't shown up yet, though.:_

_:Clearing them now,: _said Red Alert.

Prowl made another note on the datapad before picking up another and beginning the processor-warming exercise that was shift schedules. It would take quite a bit of rearranging to keep everything running with so many wounded callbacks waiting for Ratchet to repair them.

_Just until Wheeljack is repaired, _he told himself. _And Grapple and Hoist are assisting with the basics. We'll manage._

A mangled burst of static sizzled over the officer comm channel, the unique electronic sound of sheer fury. Prowl frowned, gazing beyond his surroundings as he traced the signal.

Speaking of Ratchet...

_:Jazz!: _barked the medic._ :What did you _do?!:

* * *

Ironhide watched as the group of Teyonu-based mechs escorted the last of the Decepticon prisoners onto the shuttle. His attention was devoted to the hostile mechs, every movement, every flux in their energy levels, but that did not keep him from noticing the very familiar scuff marks marring the heels of one dark orange security mech. 

'Nipping' was Metellus' preferred way of showing his irritation or displeasure. Those who lived aboard the sparked ship might occasionally forget that Metellus Cursor was as alive and aware as they, but they remembered quickly when, for whatever reason, the doors began to glitch and the lifts to stick and the energon dispensers to clog for whatever unfortunate mech had offended the ship.

The security officer wondered what exactly had transpired to place the Teyonu mech in the ship's bad graces, and he made a mental note to ask Jazz.

The shuttle's loading ramp began to close, and Ironhide waved Brawn and Windcharger out of the hanger. Decompression was no real danger for a mech, but being sucked into empty space would be a waste of time and resources.

He followed behind the two minibots, the airlock sealing behind them.

"Ahrnhide ta bridge. Shuttle is ready fer departure."

Optimus' familiar rumble seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.**"Bridge here. Shuttle is away. Next arrival estimated in one-point-three-five joors."**

"Noted. Ahrnhide out."

Brawn and Windcharger fell into step behind the larger mech as he made his way to the lifts.

"I don't suppose we're lucky enough to be scheduled for a break now?" murmured Windcharger plaintively to his fellow minibot.

"Aw, don't be such a stiff joint. Work is good for you," replied Brawn heartily, systems rumbling. "Keeps your servos limber!"

"And your fuel-tank low," muttered Windcharger.

"Th' assignments list has us slotted fer repairs in th' beta-12 corridor," said Ironhide, rounding the last corner to the lifts. Ahead, one of the doors opened obligingly. "Grapple sez it ain't pretty, neither."

"Isn't that where Prowl's unit fought?" asked the red minibot as the trio entered the lift.

Ironhide grunted an affirmative. The door closed, and all three mechs swayed as the floor shifted beneath them. Moments later, they exited into another corridor, and Ironhide led the way down two more corridors toward the central chamber that housed Metellus' spark.

Turning the final corner, Ironhide felt his systems surge at the sight that greeted him in the scorched and battered corridor.

Frozen grotesquely, face locked in a grimace and the sections of once-living metal of its frame already faded to gray, the corpse of a Decepticon phase-capable hung where a lucky shot had caught it as it attempted a surprise attack through the corridor wall. A phase-generator could let matter pass through matter; energy bolts were an entirely different matter.

Ironhide's lips pressed together in a grim frown. An unsteady rev from one of the minibot's systems echoed through the still corridor.

"I think I'm going to purge," murmured Windcharger.

The red security mech's systems vented in a loud huff, and he retrieved a laser-cutter from his subspace storage.

"C'mon, ya two. Faster started, faster done."

And he set to work.

* * *

"Of_ course _I knew." Ratchet frowned down at the little femme seated in her berth in the corner of his office. He was briefly grateful that he had offlined Sunstreaker to conduct the spark-readings he had needed; the yellow mech was unpredictable, yes, but it was fairly obvious that an upset Evelyn equaled stressed Sideswipe equaled edgy Sunstreaker equaled even _more_ things for Ratchet to repair. "All the officers did." 

"And you didn't _tell_ me." Her arms were folded tightly over her chest, the planes of her face drawn into a glower to match his own.

"Why would we?"

"My planet? My family? I would think it's obvious I would want to know!"

"To what end?" he asked. "If you had known, what could you have done?"

She sputtered briefly like a badly tuned engine before rallying a reply: "You still should have told me!"

"You would have worried, and there was nothing for you to do that would change anything. Now you will suffer excess stress and fear and possibly damage your systems from something you can do nothing about."

Her frame trembled, her optics narrowing further. "That doesn't change that it's something I should know!"

"See? Already, you're afraid."

"I am not!" she snapped, and then her optics widened and her ventilation cycle hitched.

Ratchet's frown deepened.

"Of course you aren't," he muttered.

"I'm not... afraid." She shook her head, and her face scrunched in a way that made him suspect she was speaking with Sideswipe. "Oh, God, I'm not afraid."

"You've said that."

"Furious," she murmured softly. "Upset. Not afraid." Her breathing glitched again, and she looked up at him with wide optics. "Ratchet, I think there's something wrong with me."

The femme's features were twisted with distress, and Ratchet automatically ran the standard scans: heart rate, breathing rate, temperature... All readings were slightly higher than normal, but there was nothing that her agitated state could not account for, and he told her so.

The organic made a strangled sound that Ratchet interpreted (with some surprise) as sheer fury.

"How long have I been here?" she demanded. "Months, certainly. More? A _year?_ Ratchet, I should be _out of my mind, _and here I am, doing what? Socializing! Making 'play-dates' with giant alien robots!"

_Mechs, _he thought, clamping down on the automatic urge to correct her. He regarded her silently, optics narrowed, and waited for her to continue, curious as to where this was going.

She rubbed at the top of her head, fingers running with difficulty through the thick mass of organic fluff sprouting there.

"I don't know how I can make you understand," she breathed, optics shuttered tightly.

"Try," he said, not entirely able to mask the irritated drawl coloring his tone.

A moment of silence, then...

"Mothers. Mechs don't have mothers, do they?"

"We have creators. Designers and engineers."

"I have parents. A father and a mother."

"DNA exchange," said Ratchet. "A giver and a receiver. I don't understand your dilemma. You merely have a set of two creators instead of one or more."

"They're_more than that!"_ she cried, shaking her head furiously. "More! So _much_ more! Always there, from day one, teaching me to walk and talk, holding me when I cried, feeding me when I was hungry, comforting me when I was sick. They were there _every day!"_ Her voice wavered oddly on the last sentence. "And Dick and Lizzy. Brothers and sisters... maybe you'd understand that better. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. They... love each other, don't they?"

There was another pause, during which the femme's face scrunched up in that unique expression that meant she was communicating with Sideswipe, and Ratchet jerked slightly in surprise when she suddenly snapped, "Of _course_ not like _that, _you twit! God help me, why did I ever let you watch TV at all?"

"Do you have a _point?"_

"_Yes, _damn it!" All her attention returned to him with a near-palpable _snap._ She ignored his glare and continued, "I should be frantic. I should be terrified. I've never gone more than a month without speaking with my parents. They're old. Something horrible could have happened. Lizzy was talking about having another child. What if she's pregnant? What about Dick? He could be married, or there could have been an accident. They could all be _dead, _and now I learn that my entire planet could be the next target for an _army_ of giant aliens to fuel their war, and...

"And I... I should be afraid. But I'm not."

Ratchet felt the first stirrings of unease. The expression upon the little femme's face was not one with which he was familiar; it was almost... blank.

"I have to concentrate to feel homesick... to feel afraid," she murmured. "And that should terrify me."

She released her breath in a gusty sigh and drooped down into a seated position, legs folding in ways that made Ratchet's joints ache, and buried her face in her hands.

"Damn headaches," she muttered.

* * *

Encountering Ratchet's darkest gimlet glare upon entering the medbay was clear indication of the little human femme's current status. Optimus tilted his head ever-so-slightly, and frowning, the medic gestured to his dimly-lit office. The Prime nodded –understanding and thanks in one gesture– and strode toward the open doorway. 

His servos ached as he saw the odd little ball the organic had curled herself into, knees nearly touching her shoulders, arms around her calves, and chin atop her knees. She glanced toward him, and she seemed almost to shrink in upon herself further before uncurling (now tucking her legs beneath her in what had to be a painful position).

"Hello," she said quietly.

"Hello."

There was a brief pause during which Optimus was fairly certain he heard Ratchet's engine rev moodily.

"I apologize," he said at last. "We should have informed you when we learned of the threat to your planet, but we did not wish to further stress you." He could not keep a slight hint of amusement from showing through his voice as he added, "Ratchet has been quite adamant that we avoid that as much as possible."

"Are you going to stop them?"

His processor came up with no ready way to interpret that. "I don't understand."

"The Decepticons," she said, rubbing at the odd, pale markings covering her arm. "Are you going to stop them from... taking Earth?"

"We will report to the Autobot Council after we return you to your planet. It will be up to them to decide whether to place Earth under a protection ordinance."

"How would you convince them to do that?"

His systems vented softly. "Normally, they would negotiate terms with leaders of that planet, but Jazz tells us that your planet is not familiar with interstellar races. We will have to try to convince the Council that leaving your planet to the Decepticons would be detrimental to the Autobot cause."

She nodded, seeming to look far past him, beyond anything in the room. "Will that work?"

"Prowl believes so."

Another nod, but no other reply.

"Evelyn." He waited until she looked up and met his optics. "I am sorry that any of this ever happened, and I will do everything in my power to help. This is our war. You should never have been involved."

"... thank you."

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Four**

* * *

_**Sitrep - **__(military slang) situation report_


	26. Headache

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title:** Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** It's kind of exhilarating to watch the hit counters for my stories and realize that, at any given moment, there is usually someone looking at one of the chapters. :3 Thank you guys so much for all the support, all the art, and especially all the giggles. Cheers!

Also, the voting has ended at **Metellus Cursor**, so now all that remains is for Cafei and I to tally up the final winners and select Best Story Overall. :3 Wish us luck!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

_**The Tick: **Owwwww! My head feels like it's... like it's gonna have a baby.  
**Arthur:** It's called a headache.  
**The Tick: **It has a name?_  
**- "The Tick" (2001)**

* * *

The contents of her purse and duffle bag lay strewn across the wrinkled towels of her bed, and Evelyn peered through the half-darkness and tallied them for what could quite possibly be the thousandth time. Currently confined to Wheeljack's quarters for "distance experiment purposes" (Ratchet's words), her choices for entertainment were severely limited. 

Cell phone: useless, battery long dead. Makeup: what was the point? Two bottles of water: convenient to refill from the large cube and keep near her at 'night.' One pack of gum: long empty. Credit cards: useless. Exactly twenty-four dollars, eighty-six cents, and a Canadian nickel: useless, unless she had the sudden urge to play tiddlywinks or pogs. Day planner and checkbook: also useless, though she had spent many hours either ripping the pages within them to shreds or tearing them into ragged squares to use for amateur origami.

Incidentally, after much practice, she had recalled the correct way to make a paper crane, and several of the sad, wrinkled little things now inhabited obscure corners of her box like abandoned chicks.

_At least I didn't give any of them names, _she told herself comfortingly. _Like 'Wilson.'_

'_Wilson?' _asked Sideswipe.

_From a movie. We never watched it._

The voice said nothing, but she sensed that he was waiting for a clearer explanation. With a sigh, she obliged.

_Guy gets stranded on an island. Finds a volleyball, names it Wilson, and makes it into an imaginary friend. Talks to it, carries it with him everywhere, and even has arguments with it. Kind of crazy._

'_Kind of... like you.'_

_... shut up._

In her hand, she held the one item she wished _weren't_ useless: a bottle of ibuprofen. It had been empty even before she had been brought onboard Metellus. In fact, in her day planner had been a note to buy a new bottle. (That page now lived a new life as an origami star somewhere in the vicinity of her 'pillow'.)

The headache pounded in her temples like some demented performance of Riverdance... with giant alien mechs instead of lithe, acrobatic, tight-wearing Irishmen.

Huffing another sigh, she flicked the empty bottle toward her duffle bag and flopped on her stomach. She regretted the abrupt action when the pain in her head spiked, and she muffled a moan in the thick towels, folding her arms over the back of her head.

_I want to go home._

An agonizingly loud _klang! klang! _sounded through the large, shadowy room, and Evelyn glanced up as the door slid open only to hide her head under her arms once more as light flooded through the open doorway.

"Evelyn?"

"Mm, 'Jack?" she mumbled. "Turn out the lights, please?"

The mech rumbled, and her head protested every one of his resounding footfalls. "Sorry. Hallway lights are always on."

"Joy."

"Ratchet's gotten the basic readings. He wants you to sit with Sunstreaker now and get another set."

"Good ole scientific method," she muttered. She raised her head again, warily, and squinted against the all-too-bright light streaming past the lopsided figure in the doorway. She made a noise of disgust, one echoed by Sideswipe.

'_Can't they just let us wallow in misery?'_

_Apparently not. _

_God, I don't want to move._

"Evelyn?" Wheeljack loomed over her and bent to be more on her level. "Cranial circuits still malfunctioning?" he asked sympathetically.

"You could say that," she murmured.

_You may get on my nerves, _she told Sideswipe, _but at least your voice doesn't sound like someone talking through a megaphone at me._

'_Ditto.'_

"Do you need me to call Ratchet?" The sympathy had melted into outright concern, and she flapped one hand at him.

"No, no, I'm coming... Just wish I had..." she trailed off as a jolt of something went through her, and she looked toward the jumbled array of her belongings. Pushing herself to all fours, she scooted nearer, and surely enough, there next to her lipstick was a much-worn leather eyeglasses case. She popped it open and pulled out the pair of sunglasses, grinning.

"Oh, there _is_ a God," she said happily and slid the frames onto her face. The relief was nearly instantaneous, and she turned the grin towards Wheeljack. "We can go now."

* * *

"What," demanded Ratchet, peering at the sunglasses, "is _that?"_

Evelyn flinched at the loud words, sending a disgruntled look toward the medic.

"Ratchet, look up the word 'migraine' sometime, will you? In short, pain, nausea, and sensitivity to _light—"_ She tapped the side of the sunglasses. "—and _sound."_ She glowered at the red and white mech.

Beneath her, Wheeljack's hand trembled as he rumbled (quietly) to himself. Ratchet's lips pressed tightly together.

"My apologies," said the medic (quietly, but also with a hint of his usual crustiness). "Do you think you can manage to sit with Sunstreaker for a few breems?"

"Is he awake?"

"No."

"Sure."

'_Funny, wise-aft,' _snipped the voice.

Wheeljack carried her across the bay and into one of the private rooms. Evelyn's breath puffed out in a startled gasp as she caught sight of the giant yellow and black figure of Sunstreaker lying prone atop the table, the armor of his chest folded out of the way, exposing wires and circuits and tanks and tubes and God-only-knew what else. In the back of her mind, Sideswipe hissed and muttered darkly.

Ratchet had said the warrior was not awake, but seeing Sunstreaker lying so still was unnerving.

"Why is he unconscious?" she asked. "And... why is his chest... open?"

"Ratchet had to install a monitor on Sunstreaker's spark chamber." The inventor set her down gently on the table near the warrior's waist.

"Sunstreaker couldn't just lie still for that?"

Ratchet's voice, still carefully quiet, startled her as he entered the room. "Would you care to mess about in _his_ innards while he's awake?"

'_... mech's got a point.'_

"In any case," said Ratchet, "spark readings are always best taken while a mech is offline. Emotions and thought processes can affect a spark's fluctuations."

"Ah," she said. "That... makes sense."

"I'm sure," said the medic; Evelyn thought she detected a snide hint of 'Of _course_ you do' coloring his tone. "This will only take a few breems. It doesn't matter what you do; just stay on the table."

Evelyn glanced pointedly at the table's edge. This was not her old room; there were no ladders installed for human convenience. "No problem."

Ratchet grunted noncommittally and exited.

"Call if you need anything, Evelyn," said Wheeljack, waving his lone arm before following behind Ratchet.

"And I get to sit here," said Evelyn to herself. "In the quiet," she added with considerably more pleasure.

A faint tingling encroached upon her body, spreading out from her neck and spine. _'May I?'_

_Ah... sure. I guess. _

She gave herself over to the voice's control, sitting passively within her own body as she climbed carefully onto Sunstreaker's black forearm armor and then onto the golden mech's waist. As Sideswipe walked with an acrobat's careful grace across Sunstreaker's stomach, Evelyn examined the bits of shifted torso armor with interest. In the panels that had been folded aside, she could see the bits and pieces that made up the interior of a Lamborghini: leather seats, dashboard controls, steering wheel... even the side-view mirrors folded inside his armor somehow.

_You guys really are fascinating, _she thought.

'_Fascinating?'_ Sideswipe clamored over the displaced panels and paused, looking down into his brother's internals. _'You've been hanging around Wheeljack too much.'_

Evelyn had no ready response. The mechanical maze within the giant mech's chest was mind-boggling in its complexity, the ringing in her ears at a fever pitch, but her attention was locked upon the spherical metal container at the center of the array, wires leading from it in all directions until the container itself was nearly masked from sight. An odd, square box sat atop the sphere, sides covered in ports and buttons and lights, its own mass of wires connecting it to the sphere.

_Is that his spark? _she asked in wonder.

'_His spark chamber.' _Her body sank into a crouch, three fingers of one hand resting lightly atop the yellow metal to balance her. _'Impressive, huh? _

'_Normally... I'd be able to feel him, you know?' _There was a thoughtful pause, then he added more quietly, _'I should be out of my mind, too.'_

_Technically, you're not _in _your mind, _said Evelyn. The joke fell flat.

'_We were never meant to be apart. They couldn't even assign us to separate bases. Sooner or later, usually sooner, Sunny would go on the fritz or I'd drive the C.O. out of his processor, and we'd be back together again.'_

Sunstreaker's face, gleaming silver, looked positively ethereal when not contorted into lines of menace or sullenness or rage. Her gaze was drawn back down to the tangle of wires and tubes and tanks within the mech's chest, then to the spherical case around his... spark.

_I've seen this before, _she thought.

Sideswipe sent a curious query, but she was not paying attention.

_I've seen this, _she thought again.

But there had been a cracked windshield instead of a silver face. The metal had not been yellow, but red, and everything had been—

* * *

—_wet and slippery, grass and mud shifting beneath feet that were unsteady and a leg that screamed in pain. Her hands gripped one of the few smooth areas left on the blue hood, faintly warm from residual heat, knuckles white with the effort of supporting her weight. Each breath was labored, a battle against the shards of glass that had suddenly replaced her ribs and the rain that ran into her eyes and nose and mouth, mingling with the warmer trails streaking her cheeks._

"_God," she whispered. _

_The red, green, yellow, red tempo of the streetlight continued on and on with a steady dependability that was surreal in the current situation. Her clothes, heavy and cold with rain, weighed her down, the falling rain pattering down upon her head and shoulders and back, and she _knew _that every part of her body had to be afire with pain, but it was very hard to care._

Shock, _she thought to herself. _God. Where's my phone...?

Did I bring my phone?

_Her gaze meandered over the scene. Broken glass and crumpled blue metal. The box of takeout lay yards away, strewn over the road, and she huffed an incredulous laugh before her eyes crept to the misshapen lump that was the other car..._

_Sweeping gouges in the mud marked the passage of the other car's tires, leading from the rain-slicked road to the edge of the trees. Billows of steam (smoke?) rose from the vehicle, dissipating slowly, the hiss of water upon hot metal rising above the subtle murmur of falling rain, and a faint light flickered from within the engine, highlighting the ground beneath its tires and the glittering drops falling down upon an engine no longer protected by a hood._

Fire.

_The word whispered through her mind, galvanizing her to action. She pushed away from the support of Jinx, nearly falling when her leg shrieked obscenities at her. She hobbled across the too-wide expanse between the two cars, a pained, unsteady pace that was more of a_ limp-drag _than a normal _step-step,_ and she could only be grateful that she had worn flats instead of heels._

Of course, he'd be unconscious, _she thought with muted nastiness. _Moron, moron, _moron,_ in too much of a hurry to wait for a light to change...

I ought to let him barbeque, _she added, then instantly felt remorse. _Oh, God, no.

_A few yards had somehow stretched into miles upon miles, and it came almost as a surprise when she was suddenly near enough to make out more details of the car through the masking rain. No window was whole, entire panels were missing, everything spattered with mud, and the engine..._

_She squinted, limping nearer._

_If the engine was on fire, it was no fire like she had ever seen. Light came from two distinct sources, neither of them recognizable to her, though she certainly was not any kind of car expert. Two spheres dominated the array, one at the center of the mechanical tangle and a slightly smaller one, a dirty shade of gold, nestled beside it, tangled in the wires leading everywhere from the larger sphere._

_The gold sphere was badly dented, cracks radiating outward from the pit in one side, and she could see this only because of the misty white light pressing out through the cracks and into the air like little tendrils or fingers groping through the air... stretching toward where a paler sort of light pressed out of a web of cracks marring the outside of the larger sphere._

Not fire, _she thought, perplexed, daring to rest her hands upon the front edge of the car, taking most of the weight from her leg. _But what...?

_Where rain fell toward the light, the drops fizzled and hissed into puffs of mist before they could impact upon anything. She stretched one hand toward the large sphere, palm tingling at the unexpected warmth._

_And then the car shuddered, engine groaning and grinding like a beast in agony, tires spinning as it was thrust into reverse, and she barely had time for a startled cry that morphed into one of pain as all her weight suddenly came crashing down upon a leg that was not willing to bear it. She stumbled, falling forward._

_Her hand came down upon searing hot metal._

_And then everything was pain, and she could hear herself screaming..._

_And someone was calling, but that was not right at all. There had been no one there, no one to see, no one to help..._

* * *

_'Evelyn! _Evelyn!'

"—_know where she went! She was looking at Sunny, and she just faded, like she was recharging or something!"_

"How can you not _know?" _snapped Ratchet. "You're sharing a shell!"

"_I just _don't!" her voice retaliated in a vicious hiss, _"And watch your volume! The headache affects us _both,_ thank you!"_ Then her breathing hitched, and she whispered, _"Evelyn?"_

_Sideswipe?_ She nudged experimentally at the voice's control, but he held firm. _What happened?_

'_How should _I_ know?' _he replied acerbically, and then added out loud, _"Cool your systems. She's back."_

"Evelyn?" Ratchet had leaned down until he was eye-to-eye with her. Wheeljack hovered behind him. "Evelyn, what just happened?"

Evelyn 'nudged' again, and the tingling faded away. She caught her balance awkwardly and rubbed at her temples. "Ah... I don't know. Do... do mechs have... flashbacks?"

The medic's eyes flickered. "Under certain circumstances, yes. What did you see?"

"Sideswipe... and the Key." She flinched when the two mechs' systems revved. "Er, yeah. I, uh... It was in his engine, and it was... leaking? I don't know. And there was a ball... thing, with lots of wires. His... spark chamber? It was cracked, and light was coming out, and I... touched it."

Ratchet's expression turned from intensely interested to intensely foreboding in the space of a heartbeat. He straightened to his full height with a whine of servos and pistons, eyes narrowed, and glared into midair as his systems vented in a sigh.

"What kind," he said, voice deceptively soft, "of virus-ridden... glitched... Primus-forsaken _outmode_ stores a Vector Sigma Spark Key... next to his _spark chamber?"_ By the end of the sentence, the medic was practically snarling, and Wheeljack placed one hand on the red and white mech's shoulder in an attempt to calm him.

"Ratch'..."

"_No, _Wheeljack." Ratchet's systems vented again. "I'm fine. Just..." The medic turned a gimlet glare upon Evelyn.

The tingling sensation swept over her again, and her shoulders rose in a sheepish shrug. _"Whoops?"_

"'Whoops'," Ratchet repeated. _"'Whoops',_ he says." Metal creaked as the medic clenched his fists. "Wheeljack, I'm going to work on Inferno. I'll be back in a few breems... when I don't feel the urge to hurt something."

Wheeljack moved aside with alacrity to allow the medic to stalk out.

* * *

"_What's the prognosis, doc?"_

Ratchet's systems vented, and he picked up a datapad off his desk, holding it with the screen toward the audience crowded into his office: Wheeljack, Sunstreaker, and Evelyn-currently-acting-as-medium-for-Sideswipe. The medic activated the pad, and an image that looked like several differently colored, violently spiky circles overlaid atop one another filled the screen.

"This," said the medic, "is a diagram of the initial spark readings taken of Sunstreaker. Extreme activity and energy fluctuations, virtually identical to readings of a mech in a high-stress environment."

Looming behind Evelyn, Sunstreaker's systems growled.

Ratchet turned the pad and touched several buttons. When he turned it around again, the image had changed, but instead of spiky, the circles' fluctuations, while still quite sizeable, were more rounded and less numerous.

"This is the diagram of the secondary readings. Still not within normal levels of activity, but you can see a noted improvement." He placed the datapad atop his desk. "In short, Sunstreaker, you've been under stress from a strained bond. Evelyn's body mutes Sideswipe's spark signal drastically, but your systems can still detect it at close enough distances."

"So?" snorted the warrior.

"So, in the best interests of everyone on board—" Ratchet glanced briefly at Evelyn, frown deepening. "—you will be assigned as part of Evelyn's _socialization _schedule. And since I know for a fact that you are off-duty for at least the next joor, you may start now."

Evelyn wanted to protest when Ratchet scooped her up off the desk; her head_did _protest, but Sideswipe was in control, and he was all-too-pleased at the turn the conversation had taken, practically crowing his happiness to her.

The medic held her out to the warrior, and Sunstreaker peered down at her with narrowed optics before taking her into his own hands, movements awkward, not nearly as practiced as Wheeljack or Ratchet.

"You do know the basics, correct?" asked Ratchet.

"I've been to Earth," grumbled the warrior.

"Good. Regular recharges, regular refuelings, and regular waste purges."

_Thanks, Ratchet, _thought the woman crabbily.

"And I expect her back here in one joor," added the medic firmly.

Sunstreaker's systems growled. "But—"

"'_But'?" _inquired Ratchet dangerously.

"But it _stinks," _protested Sunstreaker. "And it sheds. And _leaks."_

Evelyn made a (mental) sound of complete outrage as Sideswipe snickered.

_Oh, this is going to be fun..._

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Five**

* * *

_**Wilson –**__ from the movie _Castaway _with Tom Hanks. Long movie. Bad ending. _

_**Ibuprofen –**__ mild pain medication_


	27. Brother

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.**  
**

* * *

**Title:** Juxtaposition 

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings:** mild cursing

**Author Notes:** I'm going to say it again, people: dead laptop over here. I'm working on a computer that operates at the speed of _smell. _I'm a-working on it. Please bear with me.

Also, I have not been idle. I've got two chapters near the end of the story_ complete. _They just await the proper time of posting. Think of them and drool. X3

Also also, I've got two Ghost in the Shell: SAC oneshots up PLUS Meallanmouse's prize fic: "Breaking The Wall." Give it a look-see, and also take the time to look at her fic "The Chance Chronicles," the continued adventures of kitten!Ravage aboard Metellus, which can be found under my favorites.

Enjoy!**  
**

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Six**_**  
**_

* * *

_**Sergeant Laura Wynn:**__ I'm starting to like your brother.**  
Bosco: **__He grows on you. _  
**- "Third Watch"**

* * *

Sunstreaker, Evelyn thought, obviously had very little experience in handling small, fragile organics; he was doing a bang-up job of impersonating her brother Richard upon being presented with his two-week old neice Jessica, only instead of gripping her beneath her arms and letting her dangle _(Thank god for small favors.), _he let her sit upon his palm held far out from his chest, fingers only barely curled toward her. 

Which meant that she was, essentially, upon a flat platform with no railings moving through the air over twenty feet above the floor.

In short, Evelyn was not a happy organic.

However, Sideswipe was currently in control, and Sideswipe, she had learned, had very little in the way of self-preservation instincts where Sunstreaker was involved.

_I'm going to fall, and then my life will flash before my eyes right before I go _splat_ and I hope it bores you to tears, you sorry excuse for halfwit, and I hope it makes you sit through my _entire_ graduation ceremony, all four hours of it, because you fragging well deserve it!_

There was a short pause, and then a raspy chuckle came from her throat.

_'You know, you keep trying to pick a fight, but it's so funny to hear you say things like "fragging" that I really just don't care!'_

_Look, just... can't we do the shoulder-riding thing? Or can't he hold us somewhere a _little_ more secure?_

_'And risk getting smudges on his precious paintjob? You speak madness.'_ And the voice laughed again.

"What is that _noise _you keep making?" demanded Sunstreaker.

_"I'm laughing, bro," _said Sideswipe-via-Evelyn.

"Well, stop," said the warrior, and that was the end of that conversation.

* * *

Seated upon the table in Sunstreaker's quarters, Evelyn reflected that dealing with Sideswipe _and_ Sunstreaker was infinitely preferably to dealing with _just _Sunstreaker. 

She also now knew that Sideswipe's control period extended to somewhere in the two to three hour range, depending on how much she fought or cooperated. At the moment, she really, really wished that she had cooperated enough to stretch Sideswipe's control to a full six hours.

Sunstreaker was ignoring her.

The room was deathly silent except for the quiet rushing sound of the mech polishing himself with a soft cloth. The yellow-gold of his armor gleamed flawlessly, but he never seemed to grow tired of trying to make it shine even more.

_He could glow in the dark and it wouldn't be enough, _she groused to herself, slumping lower and resting her chin on her hands.

"Nice weather we're having," she offered inanely.

The mech ignored her.

Evelyn sighed and counted the seconds until she would be free.

* * *

Had she any choice in the matter, Evelyn would have been scrunched as close to the base of the wall as physically possible, but she did not have a choice in the matter and merely sat and fretted as Sideswipe-currently-controlling-her-body stood just outside the sparring ring and cheered gleefully as Sunstreaker methodically tore the sparring drone apart. 

The drone looked like nothing so much as a spidery, long-limbed, faceless mech. It had no fingers, its arms ending in heavy club-like appendages meant for bludgeoning, though she had gathered from Sideswipe that they could be outfitted with anything from lasers to staves to knife-like fingers, all depending on the risk the mech sparring with it was willing to take.

She was not worried so much about being caught in the fight; Sunstreaker, narcissistic sociopath though he was, was nothing if not an expertly skilled fighter. She almost felt sorry for the drone, and the yellow mech always tossed any bit he removed from the drone in the direction opposite that where she and Sideswipe stood, but there was a crowd, and it was growing, and Death By Giant Alien Robot Foot was becoming a frightening possibility.

Sunstreaker lashed out with a strike that was as vicious as it was bored, gripping the drone's arm, stepping behind it's back, and giving the limb a ruthless twist; metal crunched and wires popped, and the appendage came loose in a sizzling shower of sparks. He tossed it over to join the growing pile of drone parts, and murmurs of approval rippled through the audience.

_"Sunny, you should really check out this human show called WWF! Maybe you'd learn something new!" _called Sideswipe, laughing.

The yellow mech grunted, eyeing the drone and seemingly trying to decide on his next 'trophy'. The drone staggered after him, systems whining and groaning painfully; Sunstreaker evaded its strikes with casual, insulting ease, circling like a hunting cat contemplating somewhat dangerous but wounded prey.

An amused rumble from above brought Evelyn's gaze around and up to peer up at the mech who stood so close that he was almost astride her. The prominent bumper gave away Jazz's identity even before he leaned forward enough for them to see his face.

"T' be honest," he said, grinning, "I think Sunshine would like Ultimate Fighter. Seems more up his alley."

A minute fleck of metal, about the size of a quarter, _ping_ed off the black and white mech's chest, making him jerk in surprise, but there was no sign that Sunstreaker had even been paying attention, much less that he cared enough to make any sort of response if he had.

_'Oh, he was paying attention,' _said the voice knowingly. _'He's an aft, but Sunny doesn't miss much.'_

_Joy. Attentive _and_ a psychopath. I think I'm in love._

_'He grows on you.'_

_Like a fungus._

* * *

Evelyn sat upon the table in Sunstreaker's quarters and considered the mech. 

He was, as per usual, polishing himself. Regardless of whatever his normal schedule was, he always retreated to his room when Sideswipe fell 'asleep'. Where he was, what he was doing... neither mattered. He'd left behind a half-full cube of energon in the rec room when Evelyn had taken control.

He was a very striking mech; his 'creator' must have been artistically inclined, though why anyone would go to the trouble to make what was essentially a killing machine beautiful escaped her. And he _was_a killing machine, though at least he was now directing his violent tendencies toward Metellus Cursor's supply of sparring drones instead of his fellow Autobots.

And... perhaps his eyes were a little more blue today. She tilted her head, considering.

"What are you looking at, squishy?" growled the mech.

She turned her head away and huffed. _Squishy, indeed. Aft. _

And then she was grateful that Sideswipe was asleep so that he could not tease her for her more and more often slips of using Cybertronian curses.

"I was looking at your face, if you must know," she said, trying for the maddening, superior air that some of the richer students at the college projected so well. "It's practically a work of art."

The mech squinted at her suspiciously. An evil little idea began to take shape in her mind.

"If only... well." She sighed a little. "Everything has a flaw, I guess."

"What are you babbling about?"

"That spot. On your face."

"You're lying."

"Am not. It's right there." She pointed vaguely toward his face, inwardly gleeful that while the entire room was metal, not _one _surface was polished enough to use as a mirror. A snigger very nearly escaped her when the mech tilted his arm to try and see his reflection upon the yellow metal.

"Oh, for crying out loud-- Come here." She stood and made her way to the edge of the table. When he did not move, she gestured impatiently. "Come on! It's driving me nuts. Get your aft over here."

He moved, uncoiling with deadly grace from his seated position and stalking to stand over her. A quiver of fear began to grow in her belly, but recklessness driven by the boredom of being ignored pushed it down. She beckoned him down.

With glacial slowness, he bent toward her. She shook her head and continued to wave him closer until she was nearly eye-to-eye with him, his face just within her reach.

"Where is it?" grouched the mech.

Evelyn allowed the wickedly delighted grin she'd been repressing to spread across her face. With the lightning swiftness born of being the youngest of three very rambunctious children, she swiped her tongue across her palm and slapped in against the mech's cheek.

"Right there," she said sweetly.

She was still laughing when the infuriated mech dumped her roughly onto a thoroughly startled CMO's desk and stalked out of the 'bay.

_Totally worth it!  
_

* * *

_"They've got this thing called Nascar, too. It's racing, but the crashes are like something out of your nightmares. It's awesome!"_

_You are a sick, sick mech._

_"And Jazz was right. You'd probably like Ultimate Fighter. Evelyn wouldn't let me watch it, so it's got to be cool."_

Evelyn gave a mental moan and wondered what she had done to deserve such a fate: trapped in her own body listening to _guy talk._

Even if it was extremely one-sided guy talk.

She wished the Sunstreaker would take her back to the washracks. Sideswipe was terrified of the water, so at least she had control when she was swimming... even if any mechs nearby _did _insist on 'rescuing' her whenever she stayed underwater too long for their comfort.

Sunstreaker took another swallow of energon, letting Sideswipe blather on unbothered about anything and everything concerning Earth culture. Evelyn was aware of a group of mechs consisting of Bluestreak, Bumblebee, and Hound seated a mere two tables away, and she longed to join them for casual, pleasant conversation instead of this... purgatory.

_"... think the smell is bad, she leaks for nearly half an orn for every two orns that go by!"_

Evelyn's thought processes froze.

_"And it hurts! I don't know who designed these bodies, but they need to be hunted down and shot."_

_You..._

_Sideswipe... you did not... just say that._

_"And there's all the soreness and aches, and if you think she's cranky normally..."_

_Sideswipe, I _know _you aren't discussing my period with your brother._

_'Why not? It's all true.'_

_Because if you were, I'd have to find some way to _hurt_ you._

_'Yeah. Right.' _The voice made a sound very much like 'pshaw!' and Evelyn fumed.

_"She might be about to head into another cycle now, actually. She's really grumpy."_

_Sideswipe, if you _were_ discussing that with your brother, I might have to ask Wheeljack to attempt a new kind of food... based off tomatoes._

_He might not get the flavor,_ she added viciously,_ but I'm pretty damn sure he can get 'slimy' and 'squishy' down pat._

_"... And that's enough on that subject. Ever watch a show called Mythbusters?"_

* * *

Evelyn sat upon the floor of Sunstreaker's room, watching him polish one of his shins. The mech would send her pale-eyed glances from time to time, and she sat still and smiled each time, trying her best to project an aura of 'Who, me? I'm innocent. Pure as snow. Gentle as a lamb. What harm could I do?' 

Sideswipe had thought her prank had been sheer genius, though he had also been amazed that she was still in one piece. She agreed, but at least Sunstreaker was not ignoring her anymore.

... though maybe that was not a good thing.

"It was a joke, okay?" she said when he next glared at her. "I've got your brother _living in my head; _I'm pretty sure he's put you through worse."

The standard _rush-rush _of the polishing cloth faltered before resuming.

"Admit it," she pressed. "What? He's painted you? Glued you to the ceiling? That would be a trick for someone your size, but again, he's in my head, so I think I know him well enough to say that he would find a way."

The mech snorted.

"I have a brother myself, and we've both done some pretty strange things. I've woken up to find all my underwear superglued to the ceiling, and he's been through the standard celophane over the toilet seat --though you don't know what that means, and I'm not going to enlighten you-- but suffice to say that a little smudge is pretty mild on the prank scale of one to ten."

He_ growled._

"... or maybe not."

_Rush-rush. Rush-rush-rush._

She sighed, eyeing the mech contemplatively.

_There's got to be a way, _she thought. _Ignoring was loads better than the glaring._

"You know..." she said at last, "I used to help dad wash the cars. It's been awhile, but... Hey, maybe it's like riding a bike."

The mech paused in his work and squinted at her. She realized that he probably had no idea what riding a bike had to do with car washing... or even what a bike was.

"I'm just saying, I still owe you a wash and wax from Earth, don't I?" She tried to smile winningly, though it came off a little weaker than she had hoped. "Next time we go to the washracks, how about I give you a hand? Scrub your back or something?"

_Rush... rush... _

"Hm," he replied.

It was far from a 'yes', but it was also definitely not a 'no'. Evelyn grinned.

_It's like speaking Robot, _she told herself. _You've just got to speak Sunstreaker._**  
**

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Six**_**  
**_

* * *

_**Totally worth it! - **__Cafei's catchphrase. _XD_ Synonymous with "I regret nothing!"_


	28. Language

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.**  
**

* * *

**Title:** Juxtaposition 

**Summary:** Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating:** T

**Warnings: **cursing, mild gore

**Author Notes:** Special thanks go out to **Cafei **and** Nightpounce **who were wonderful sounding boards for this chapter before the Computer Failure From The Pit. DX Still no word on the laptop front. Offerings to Primus in my poor baby's name (recently christened Ace) will be most appreciated.

Also, thanks to **Caravanka** for pointing out some boo-boos that I missed. XD S'what you get when you're typing on Wordpad.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Seven**_**  
**_

* * *

_**Lee:**__ Do you understand the words that are a-coming out of my mouth?  
**Carter:**__ Don't nobody understand the words that are comin' out of your mouth._**  
-****Rush Hour 2**

* * *

Over the course of Sunstreaker's 'socialization' visits, Evelyn had developed a definite love for the washracks. A pool of heavenly hot water (though the mechs complained that actual oil or cleanser baths would have been more luxurious but were just not within a military unit's budget) was just the balm she needed to soothe her still-ruffled feathers over the lack of soap, shampoo, or other hygienic necessities. 

Most mechs had seen her in there at one point or another. Her buoyancy fascinated them, and she had given the 'Why Humans Float 101' lecture more times than she could count. Some (Bluestreak and Jazz) had even done her the favor of acting as impromptu diving boards until a comment from Gears ("Wonder what Ratchet would do if he saw that...") put an end to that particular pastime. Sunstreaker just moaned about organic oils marring his finish. Her shyness over wearing nothing but her under things had quickly melted away, too; it was practically a bikini anyway, more modest than most bikinis currently in style, in fact, and none of the Autobots cared except to ask many strange and varied questions as to the exact nature and purpose of her belly-button.

On this particular occasion, drifting aimlessly in the deliciously warm water was Evelyn's ideal treatment for her latest headache, no matter how much Sideswipe felt the need to moan about his hydrophobia.

_Or is it aquaphobia? _she mused.

_'Who_ cares?' growled the voice peevishly.

Evelyn sighed silently to herself and decided not to pursue to budding argument. No amount of coaxing or 'hands-on experience' would bring Sideswipe to enjoy swimming, which really was no surprise since every time she jumped in, he probably had terrors that they were about to sink straight to the bottom and never surface again. Cybertronian physiology was just not made to appreciate the joys of swimming.

A particularly strong throb between her temples had her clenching her eyes closed against the pressure. She drew in a quick gulp of breath and flipped herself beneath the water, pulling herself downward with wide strokes of her arms and quick little flicks of her legs. Sound and sight vanished, leaving her to simply _feel._ Warm water caressed her head and body like a soothing massage, easing the headache to a more bearable level, and when her lungs (and Sideswipe) began to protest, she gave up the descent and kicked one last time to send her drifting back towards the surface.

_This is so peaceful, _she thought. _Can't you appreciate that much, at least?_

Little flicks of her hands and feet oriented her body until she was laying face-up within the water, floating slowly upward. She opened her eyes, ignoring the light stinging that contact with water caused, and gazed at the shimmering barrier where water met air as it drew closer and closer.

_See?_ she prompted Sideswipe. _Isn't that beautiful?_

_'I see air and light, and both are sounding very good at the moment.'_

Her lips thinned in a small smile, and cold air washed over her face and chest as she broke the surface. She sputtered lightly, clearing water from her nose and mouth, blinking away the stinging in her eyes.

_You have no appreciation for life's simple pleasures._

_'I have a great appreciation for life. As in, I'd like to keep mine, so why don't we get the slag away from the Giant Pool of Death?'_

Evelyn snorted and giggled at that, regardless of how the sounds sent vicious little needles jabbing through her skull, but before she could muster a reply, a shadow fell over her. Canting her head back, she peered up at the giant, shadowy figure looming at the side of the pool, pale blue eyes glowing brightly, face framed by very distinctive 'horns'.

"Sunstreaker," she greeted the mech casually.

"Finished contaminating the rinse-pool yet?" growled the giant.

"Not in the least," she replied. "Is that your oh-so-charming way of saying that you're done polishing yourself?"

_'Oh, yeah. When I'm gone, you are _so_ squished.'_

_He'll have to go through Ratchet first._

"Get out, or I'll get you out," said Sunstreaker, and Evelyn sighed mournfully, flipping onto her stomach and paddling her way toward the edge at a snail's pace, trying to prolong the experience. She had a sneaking suspicion that the warm water relaxing her muscles was all that stood between her and a skull-splitting migraine.

Bumblebee, the only other mech currently in the pool, kindly gave her a hand-up to the ledge, and she shivered in the open air, pulling her hair forward over her shoulder to begin the arduous task of twisting the water out of the tangled mass.

And as she had feared, as the warmth faded from her body, leaving her huddled upon the cold floor, her headache began to grow.

_Crap, _she thought, pausing in squeeze-drying her hair to squint her eyes shut against the painful flicker of light upon the pool surface. _Incoming migraine, twelve o'clock._

_'Aw, fra-a-ag,' _moaned the voice.

_Tell me about it, _she replied mulishly. Her neck felt as though her spine had been replaced with rusty barbed wire, and she closed her eyes completely as she squeezed out her hair one more time.

The booming shuffle of shifting Cybertronian feet was positively torturous, and Evelyn and Sideswipe gave mental whimpers as the woman sent a squint-eyed glare up at a very impatient Sunstreaker.

A growled "hurry up" was the only reply she received from the yellow warrior.

_Screw this, _she thought uncharitably. _Lock him in the brig. Chuck him out an airlock. I don't care! Just get him _away_ from _me.

_'Hey! You're not exactly a bundle of happiness and high grade yourself!'_

_And screw you, too, _she growled. It took her a good five minutes of peering around the suddenly too-bright room to locate her clothes, leaving her even more irritable when she discovered them lying innocently in the open, halfway within Sunstreaker's shadow, and she heaved herself to her feet _(Oooh, head rush...)_ to make her way over to them, moving in a vague zigzag pattern that she vaguely hoped neither of the watching mechs noticed.

"Evelyn?" came Bumblebee's voice. "Are your stabilizers miscalibrated?"

"I'm fine, 'Bee," she replied.

Standing over the little bundle of clothing, she breathed deeply and sought the willpower to bend over and retrieve them, hoping that she was not about to fall ingloriously upon her butt. Steeling herself, she eased herself down into a crouch, one hand laying lightly atop the pile of cloth. The throbbing in her head reached new heights, and she sniffled when the faint tickle of a runny nose made itself known.

She paused, peering at a strange little red-brown stain upon her blouse.

The tickle in her nose intensified and two more stains appeared on the material with faint _pat-pat_ noises.

_'What the...?'_

_Oh, no. _Her free hand rose to brush against her nose, coming away warm and wet, smeared with red. _Oh,_ no.

_'Is your face _leaking?' demanded Sideswipe, sounding disturbed.

_A nosebleed, _she said. _God, at this rate, Ratchet's never going to let me out of the 'bay ever again._

She sighed and flopped down into a seated position, ignoring the spike of pain that went through her head at the abrupt motion. Her bloodied hand came up to clamp her nostrils closed; she propped her other elbow on her knee and rested her chin in her palm. Inexplicably, she felt the faint sting of tears growing behind her eyes.

_'Why are you leaking? And how do you stop it? Are you malfunctioning?'_

_I don't know; you do what I'm doing and wait for it to stop; and darned if I know, but I haven't had a nosebleed since I was six, so something must be off._

Sunstreaker shifted impatiently again, the boom of his feet upon the metal floor adding to the misery of her headache.

"What are you waiting for?" demanded the mech. "Hurry up!"

Voice clogged from her blocked nose, Evelyn glared up at the mech and replied, "I'd flib you obb ib I thoughd you'd know whad id was."

Sunstreaker stared. There was a short pause, and then in an action that stunned Evelyn, the warrior shifted and dropped to one knee, peering intently at her with eyes that seemed paler than before. The little mechanisms behind the glass lenses flicked and whirred industriously, and warm air from the vents on his helm washed over her. She sighed gustily from her mouth, looking away.

"... what did you say?" asked the mech slowly.

"Neberbind." The blood on her fingers was growing sticky, and she released her hold on her nose experimentally only to quickly resume pinching it when more liquid trickled over her upper lip. "Crab."

A loud chorus of rushes and splashes came from behind her, and she looked back to see a dripping-wet Bumblebee climbing out of the pool to bend over her, an odd expression on his face. "Evelyn...?"

"You're leaking," stated Sunstreaker, his systems revving. "Why?"

"Id's a nosebleed, Sunsdreager. Nudding serious."

There was a long pause.

"... I think you might want to get her to Ratchet," said Bumblebee quietly.

For once not pausing to exchange hostilities, Sunstreaker scooped her up in the palm of his hand, rose to his feet, and strode for the door. Evelyn squawked indignantly and slapped at his palm until she attracted his attention.

"Don'd you dare, you obergrown agtion figure! I'b nod gedding paraded around the shib in by underwear!"

When her tirade produced no other effect than a brief pause in the warrior's steps, she slapped his palm again and pointed imperiously to the sad little bundle of her clothes lying at Bumblebee's feet.

"Maybe she's cold?" suggested the minibot. "Ratchet says she's more susceptible to cold than we are."

"Or maybe its processor is fried," muttered Sunstreaker, but he flicked his wrist and produced a towel from empty air, dropping it atop Evelyn's head. As he strode briskly out of the washracks, Evelyn bundled the comforter-sized cloth around her shoulders with her free hand, noting its stained and tattered state.

_Doesn't even trust me with a clean towel, _she thought moodily, her indignation somewhat lost beneath the throbbing pain of her headache. _Naturally._

* * *

"What," snarled Ratchet, "did you _do?"_

No matter how intimidating Sunstreaker's bulk and personality could make him seem, the yellow mech really had nothing on the Chief Medical Officer. Ratchet was _looming _over the taller mech, his lack of height inconsequential in the light of his blazing white eyes and sheer forceful presence.

"I didn't do a slagging thing," growled Sunstreaker in response. He waved one hand toward where Evelyn sat atop a table, pinching her nose firmly, still bundled in the stained towel (which now had several new reddish stains to add to its collection). One table over, the skeletal beginnings of Wheeljack's replacement arm lay like some macabre museum display. "I told it to get out of the water, and it just sat down and started doing _that."_

"I'b nod an 'id', goddammid!" snapped Evelyn thickly. She looked toward Ratchet. "And he really didn'd do anything. Honesdly, this jusd habbens somedimes."

She was ignored.

"You had to have done _something," _hissed Ratchet.

"I. Did. Not. Touch. It," enunciated Sunstreaker slowly and carefully, systems growling loud enough to override the snarling of the medic's systems. _"Maybe_ you should _do your job _and _fix it!"_

"There's nothing do fix!" cried Evelyn in exasperation, but the pair continued to ignore her, Ratchet insisting that there had to have been some sort of trigger for her 'condition.'

_This is ridiculous!_ she thought acidly. _Am I speaking _French?

_'No,'_ said the voice. _'You're just speaking really fragged up Cybertronian. How much longer until the leaking stops?'_

_I don't know. Another ten minu-- _

She paused. She blinked.

_What... did you say?_

_'You're messing up all the sounds. No wonder they can't understand you.'_

Evelyn's thoughts scrambled gracelessly for a hold upon the rapidly shifting sands of her mind. The ongoing arguing between the medic and the warrior faded to background static.

_Are you trying to tell me... that I've been speaking an _unknown, alien language _the_ entire time I've been onboard _and I did not _know _it?_

_'You didn't honestly think that the entire crew had downloaded English language files for your convenience, did you?' _asked Sideswipe, voice lightly teasing. There was a long moment where Evelyn could think of no reply, and the voice added, _'Dear Primus, you _did.'

She rallied herself with an effort. _I can't be butchering my words _that_ badly. Mama knew what I was saying when my entire mouth was numb after a root canal._

_'You're messing up the noises. Almost _all_ of the noises. You sound like a virus-ridden sparkling with a bad vocalizer.'_

_Oh, thanks _so _much._

The 'bay doors opened to admit Wheeljack. The inventor took one look at the arguing pair (their shouts now died down to fierce hisses) and took the roundabout path along the opposite wall and far into the bay, circling around to approach Evelyn. He bent down to her level, peering at her nose intently. Evelyn glared back at him, mind still spinning with the implications of what Sideswipe had said.

"Wheeljag, if you eben _thing _the word 'fascinading', I will bead you do death with your own arb."

Sideswipe laughed. Wheeljack ignored her aside from murmuring what was probably meant to be comforting nothings as he nudged curiously at the hand pinching her nose. She released her grip long enough for him to see the resulting trickle of red, then resumed pinching her nostrils closed and slumped lower over her knees.

"Cranial processors still malfunctioning?" asked the green, gray and white mech after a short pause. It was one of his standard queries at this point, right up there with 'Are you sure you don't need more fuel?' and 'Do you need me to call Ratchet?'

Evelyn nodded miserably.

"Are you in danger right now? Of deactivating, I mean."

She shook her head.

The inventor glanced over his shoulder when Ratchet snarled a fierce _"Get the _slag _out!"_and Sunstreaker stormed out of the bay.

"Little temperamental, aren't they?" he murmured, and he rumbled when she nodded her head vigorously _'yes!'_

"She's not damaged," said Wheeljack. "Ratchet, she understands. There's just something wrong with her vocal processor."

"I understand that much, 'Jack, but how do we fix something when we don't even know how it _works?"_

Evelyn listened intently as the two mechs debated. Every word the pair said sounded like perfectly clear English.

... didn't it?

There had always been mechanical, metallic overtones to their voices, little rumbles and growls and buzzes that were part and parcel of any Cybertronian voice.

_You can't be serious, _she thought. _There's no way. Languages don't just pop into your head._

_'Let me say it a different way. You didn't honestly believe that I've been _thinking_ in English this entire time, did you? Because I can tell you, this is pure Iacon-standard Cybertronian you're hearing right now.'_

_Are you saying I've... picked up a language thought-to-thought? _

_'Like downloading a file.'_

_Humans can't _download _anything into their brains!_

The voice scoffed. _'What do you call how I got in here? Osmosis?'_

There really was no ready answer to that.

_'You really are slow on the uptake,' _sighed the voice.

_It sounds like English!_

_'Does it?'_

She turned her attention back to the two mechs standing several yards away. The tempo of their speech was a little off. And... maybe some of the sentence structures? It was hard to think about it that way, though, because it really did sound just like...

_Like French would sound if I'd been speaking it from birth. Or Italian, or Japanese._

She listened with growing wonder. _Dear god, I am slow on the uptake._**  
**

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Seven  
**

* * *

**Evelyn's 'Speech Impediment' - **To give you some idea of why a stuffy nose is so detrimental to speaking Cybertronian, think of a language that has a great deal of nasals and hard consonant sounds. Lots of m's, n's, k's, t's, p's, etc. and very few (if any) d's, b's, g's, etc. Now imagine not being able to produce any nasal sounds and being forced to morph all hard consonants to their softer counterparts. It would seriously mess with how others would process what you said. Thus **Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers **would morph to **Beeder biber bigged a beg of biggled bebbers**. Sheer gibberish. Make sense? 


	29. Worse

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **cursing

* * *

**Author Notes:** Okay, I've been MIA online for a while, and I apologize. I had big hopes for finishing Jux in March, but... well. You can see that that did not happen.

Also, several people have sent me messages through the ff-net PM system, trying to send me links; ff-net does not show those links. If I haven't replied to your PM, please try to resend it through the Metellus Cursor Yahoo group. I tried to reply to them all, but I may have missed some. I'm sorry for the trouble. Maybe we should start a petition for the rights of links to live on the site. :P

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Eight**

* * *

_Believe it or not, it gets worse._  
**- Rick, ****Happily N'Ever After**

* * *

_The steady beeping_ _of the heart monitor was going to drive her insane. _

_... that is, if that thrice damned voice did not do the job first._

_Strange, she pondered, how wonderfully tempting something became the moment it was marked as forbidden. The heart monitor clipped to the middle finger of her left hand and the IV drip taped on the same arm conspired against her; the monitor pinched and the IV needle made her elbow itch, and if it had not been impossible due to her immobilized right arm (and moreover expressly prohibited --multiple times by multiple nurses) she would have taken off the former and scratched at the latter and been one thoroughly happy patient._

_She sighed and rolled her head over to face the window, seeking out a cool spot upon the wrinkled pillow. _

A thoroughly happy patient with the worst headache since man invented booze, _she thought dismally. _I'm in a hospital. Don't I get drugs?

_Her eyes drifted closed in an attempt to soothe the ache in her skull, but the action merely seemed to contain the headache and therefore concentrate it to even greater pressure. _

_And against all logic, she must have slept, because the next thing she knew there was a warm hand, slender and soft, wrapped gently around the fingers of her right hand, the only bit of skin on her right arm not covered by gauze. The faint scent of Jessica McClintock perfume filled the air, and Evelyn smiled._

_"Hey, mama," she murmured, not bothering to open her eyes._

_"Hey, sweetie." The hand squeezed her fingers, a thumb running lightly over her knuckles. "Your father says 'hi', and Zack and Jessie are demanding to know when you'll come see their new playhouse."_

_"Playhouse? Jack finally got 'round to building that monster after all? Where at?"_

_"The big tree in the back yard."_

_"Good for him. He's been talking about that for years."_

_A soft chortle. "It looks like a squashed refrigerator box with gingerbread trim," said her mother frankly, wickedly amused. "And the kids couldn't agree on pink or blue, so Jack gave up and painted it purple."_

_"... oh, dear."_

_"He said it was a learning experience."_

_Evelyn 'hmm'ed a sleepy chuckle. "Learned to never try and build a playhouse by himself, I expect."_

_"Anything you do is a learning experience," said her mother in the tone of one giving a life lesson to a young child, "if you let it be one."_

_Evelyn cracked open one eye. Sight blurry from sleep, she could see the halo that the light streaming in the window made of her mother's silver-streaked hair. "So, there's something I should be learning from this whole fiasco, hm?"_

_Her mother was playing a hand-game that Evelyn knew from time beyond memory: taking the tip of each of Evelyn's fingers between her thumb and forefinger and rubbing quickly and gently, going from thumb to pointer to middle to ring to pinkie finger and back again, sending tingles of pleasure up her daughter's arm. _

_"I'm just saying," said the older woman softly, "that nothing is ever a waste."_

_Her mother's ministrations upon her hand were relaxing her better than anything the hospital could have offered, and her eyelids fluttered as she battled the fatigue creeping upon her. _

_"Well," she murmured, "it really did reinforce the whole 'look both ways before crossing' lesson, if nothing else."_

* * *

Evelyn awoke groggily when her bed jolted and swayed, and she spent a bleary moment searching for a nonexistent pillow and comforter before her hand hit empty space, and reality fell into place with jarring suddenness. She peered over the edge of a giant, black metal hand at the gray floor so very far below. Her stomach lurched, but a muted grumble was the most reaction she could muster as she pushed herself into a sitting position, arms trembling slightly at the effort.

The hand had ceased all movement, and a glance upward revealed Jazz's visored countenance tilted down toward her, grin present but smaller than usual.

"Hey," said the mech.

Evelyn glanced around. They were in one of Metellus' hallways. She suspected that they were still on the recreation deck, just through sheer gut-instinct, but there was no concrete reason for her to feel that way. Sideswipe's presence was a muted mumble at the back of her mind, and her temples felt pressed in by the usual headache.

"Jazz?" She frowned and rubbed at her face, combing fingers through her lank hair, suspecting that she was not at all as presentable as she would wish. "Where're we going?"

"I thought I'd take ya back t' th' 'bay," said the mech. "Most everyone else is headin' t' shifts or recharge anyway."

"But..." Her thoughts were lining up, slowly and unsteadily, like rows of drunken soldiers, and that slow unsteadiness revealed itself in a very much Southern lilt when she spoke. "Ya'll were tellin' me about... about Iacon. About before th' war."

A gentle little rumble traveled from Jazz's systems, through his arm, and through the hands cradling Evelyn. "Evy, that was nearly half a joor ago."

Evelyn stared in surprise, and Jazz continued down the hallway. After a moment, she leaned up against the saboteur's curled fingers and tried to soak up as much warmth from the dark metal as she could.

* * *

Ratchet had reached the point of reattaching Wheeljack's arm... though it really was not an arm quite yet. There were still wires to be welded and nodes to be tuned and sensors to be tested, and Evelyn sat upon a nearby table as Ratchet performed all these duties upon the armorless limb --it looked eerily like metal bones with stringy, multicolored muscles wrapped around it. Wheeljack twitched from time to time, and since Ratchet was explaining each action as he performed it, Evelyn knew that this was due to the medic activating sensors along the arm, something of a jarring sensation for the patient.

"--are the connecting valves for circulatory lines, but the circuit has to be complete before those can be--"

It was difficult to pay attention. The medic's voice seemed to fade in and out, and Sideswipe was _quite _disinterested in the whole process, anyway, no matter how determined Evelyn was to learn as much as she could about the Autobots during her stay.

Evelyn felt very little guilt about forcing her passenger to sit through what was essentially a very basic anatomy lesson; Sunstreaker had been in the 'bay earlier for Ratchet to take more spark readings, and Sideswipe had been given free rein throughout his brother's visit. From the fluctuating volume and speed of the voice, she suspected that he would drift off to 'sleep' at any time.

"--can see where the metal is already assimilating--"

Evelyn herself felt that she was going to drift off herself. Her eyes kept fluttering closed without her permission, irritating her in a vague, muddled kind of way.

Ratchet was in the middle of explaining the properties of living metal when an all-too-familiar tickle began in Evelyn's nose, and her hand came up automatically to clamp her nostrils shut before even more rusty speckles could be added to the copious collection decorating her shirt, faded though they were from her scrubbing.

Sideswipe let out a moan.

_'It never stops! Can't you do anything?'_

_Sideswipe... _She sighed gustily through her mouth, the noise attracting Ratchet's attention. His expression soured when he saw the familiar pinched-nose position. _I've told you before. You just wait until it stops._

_'Just my luck! We're on our way to Earth with a capable medic, and _your _shell is going to fall apart before we ever get there!'_ There was a definite hint of real despair in Sideswipe's mental voice, and Evelyn suddenly realized how much her body's 'malfunctions' must have really upset the Cybertronian, a being who was no doubt accustomed to his body obeying his every order without fail.

Ratchet retrieved a tiny square of towel out of thin air and handed it to her. She laughed softly as she accepted the scrap of cloth and used it to dab at her nose, trying to judge the amount of flow by the little scarlet dots upon the coarse fabric.

"Sideswipe," she said at last, when the flow had slowed to the barest trickle, "a little thing like a nosebleed won't kill me. Good grief, people have them all the time. It's probably just something wrong with my food, and something like that won't be a problem until _years _have passed. Calm down."

Speaking the words aloud seemed to make them more 'real'... and doing so also served to drown out the treacherous little whispers of _yeah, right! _and _liar, liar! _that lurked just beneath the louder thoughts that she shared with the voice. Ratchet and Wheeljack both listened quietly to her speech, Ratchet's eyes narrowing, and Sideswipe seemed to settle a bit, muttering about inefficient organic shells.

* * *

When Evelyn was groggily preparing herself for bed (i.e. folding and refolding the towels and combing through her hair as best as she was able), a dull metallic tapping sounded at the door, and Ratchet entered. There was a short moment of silence during which Evelyn suspected he was running a barrage of scans upon her poor, tired body, and then, with a curious expression upon his face, he asked, "Sideswipe?"

Evelyn blinked, settling down in her little nest. "Asleep," she replied. "Do you need him for something?"

"No." Another moment of silence passed, then, "You're trying to protect him."

Evelyn's mind went _hm? _and when no further clarification was forthcoming, she said it aloud. "Hm?"

"A nutritional deficiency would not account for your current symptoms," said the medic.

"Oh. That." She started to shrug, caught herself before her shoulders could do more than twitch, and tilted her head. "He was upset. I didn't want him to be upset, so I tried to calm him down."

"You realize that Sideswipe _is _your elder by several hundred years, do you not?"

_Whoa. _She had not _known, _but after her experiences with the Cybertronians, she had certainly suspected.

"He's still young, though," she replied. "He and Sunstreaker. They're like teenagers or adolescents. At least, that's the impression I get. And Bluestreak is younger still."

"Young_est, _actually," said the medic. "That still doesn't explain your attempts to protect a being more than ten times your age. Your species considers those of age something to be respected, do they not?"

"Yes, for the most part." She was not going to try and explain the double standard of age meaning wisdom-veneration-asset _and _senility-foolishness-burden at the same time. "But older people almost always feel obligated to look after those younger than them, and true ages aside, Sideswipe does not _feel _old, and I am a mature member of my species."

Ratchet merely gazed at her with his glowing blue eyes until Evelyn felt heat creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. She had been treating Bluestreak and Sideswipe as she would favored students or younger members of her family. Sunstreaker would probably have gotten the same treatment had he not been so bent on glaring her into submission every time they met.

But how did one explain such actions to a person like Ratchet?

"Oh, for the love of-- It has to do with the reproductive cycle, too. A little bit. Kind of." The heat in her cheeks increased greatly at that. "Just... look up something called 'maternal instinct' and go from there, okay? I'm tired."

The medic's systems hummed, his optics flickered, and a thoughtful look came over his face.

"Hormones," he said at last, "have entirely too much control over your systems."

With that, he turned and left her alone in the shadowed room.

* * *

Bluestreak was Evelyn's designated chaperone for the next several days, something that put a crimp in her Cybertronian language studies. Jazz had extra shifts, and Sunstreaker, the only other mech on the human-sitting roster with experience in the English language, was MIA as well, something that put Sideswipe on edge even after Ratchet had reassured them that the yellow mech was working on a project under Prowl's orders.

Bluestreak, knowing her love for the washracks, had taken her down for a quick swim. Hound, neck-deep in the warm pool, had obligingly bent one arm over his chest to create a resting place for Evelyn so that she could likewise sit neck-deep in the deliciously hot water, and Bluestreak stood beneath the showers with a long-handled brush, scrubbing at his back. Evelyn watched, her curiosity piqued when she noticed the gunner twitching whenever the brush rubbed over one of the wing-panels upon his back. Hound noticed, too.

"Gimme a breem, Blue," said the scout. "I'll lend ya a hand."

"No, that's okay. I mean, I've had them for vorns; I should be able to take care of them by now." A disgruntled note crept into the gray mech's voice when the brush slipped and bumped one of the wings, causing him to wince. "I should have gone for an armored model like you, Hound. You don't have everything catching on sensory panels and chevrons, and you don't twitch whenever someone tries to squeeze past you in the hallways. I don't know how Prowl manages sometimes."

Little ripples shivered over the water as Hound rumbled loudly. "Blue, I happen to know for a fact that Prowl has Jazz to scrub his back for him. I'm telling you, just wait a tic, and I'll do your panels."

Bluestreak made a sigh-like noise, but he turned his attention to his arms and legs.

For Evelyn, it had taken a little getting used to, seeing different mechs helping each other in the washracks, but logic had won out in the end. Cybertronians were not as limber as humans; Ratchet still cringed whenever he saw her sitting Indian style or twisting her arms back to scratch between her shoulders. Reaching their backs during washing was nigh impossible for most, and those with oddly shaped frames had an even harder time. 'I'll scrub your back if you scrub mine' was very much the motto of the washracks.

But Evelyn was reminded of one the questions that had always been niggling at the back of her mind.

"What exactly are your wing-things for, anyway?" she asked.

"'Wing-things'?" repeated Bluestreak, pausing in his ministrations to peer at her. Hound rumbled again, even louder.

"Sensory panels," said the scout. "One of the downsides and perks of that model, from what I've heard."

"But what do they _do? _Is it for aesthetics or what?"

Sideswipe broke his sullen silence. _'Aesthetics? Oh, come on.'_

_It's a valid question._

"No, no," said Bluestreak, his wing-panels twitching, sending little patters of water onto the grated floor. "They have specialized sensors. I'm a gunner, so I need to know a lot about the atmosphere -wind speed, humidity, temperature, and energy fields- or else my accuracy is off."

"Okay," said Evelyn. "Than what about the chevrons? Even Ratchet has one of those."

"Those are like antennae. They boost communications, make it easier to get a signal from local networks. For Blue, here-" Hound nodded at the gunner. "-it helps him patch into local sensor networks to find targets. Prowl, it helps him keep in contact with Metellus' communications so he can keep tabs on all the tactical information he needs. Ratchet needs it to make sure he stays in contact with the medbay sensors so he can monitor his patients even if he isn't onboard."

_'Like he probably is right now,' _grumbled Sideswipe.

"Jazz has something like it, too," said Bluestreak. "Those little knobs on his helm? Same thing, but he's programmed more for close combat, so a chevron would be too vulnerable. His isn't as sensitive, but better a little lost sensitivity than having it ripped off in battle." The gunner gave a little shudder. "Same for Optimus' helm."

"All right. Then what about Sunstreaker's..." Evelyn paused, contemplating, before she raised her hands from the water to make little 'horns' on either side of her head. "... things?"

Both mechs grinned broadly, systems rumbling, and even Sideswipe let out a little snicker.

"Vents," said Hound. "His systems probably get a lot more overworked than most other models, and he has more armor to insulate him."

"And Sideswipe's model has antennae-horns like Jazz, right?" asked Evelyn, feeling pleased. "So he's not as much for close-combat as Sunstreaker?"

_'Hey, I can kick just as much aft as my slag-headed brother, thank you very much!'_

Hound and Bluestreak both gave the little head-tilt gesture that was the Cybertronian version of a shrug.

"I wouldn't know," said the scout. "If he's anything like Sunstreaker, I expect he can handle himself in battle better than I could."

Sideswipe gave off a definite impression of smug pleasure, and Evelyn rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please don't say stuff like that!" she said. "You're not the one who has to share head space with him."

* * *

"Aw, Blue, I'm sorry, but I'm about to fall asleep anyway." Evelyn patted the hand beneath her. "And I'll see you in a couple joors, won't I? That's not long at all."

Bluestreak grinned, making his way carefully down the hallway. He was always so gentle with her, even going so far as to try and walk in such a way to jolt her as little as possible. "Oh, I know. But your socialization period isn't up for another half joor, and I didn't want to mess up Ratchet's schedule. He can get kind of irritated if things don't go just right, you know, but he does give you a lot of leeway, so I guess it's okay." The gunner gave a little hiccup-rumble sound (_A giggle? _wondered Evelyn with a sleepy grin of her own.) and added, "Jazz says Ratchet's like an energon goodie, just with bit of crustiness around the edges."

Evelyn and Sideswipe both burst out laughing at that, and they were still chuckling breathlessly when they entered the medbay.

The first thing Evelyn noticed when they jerked to a halt was that Bluestreak's wings had assumed the same position Prowl's had during the fight with the Decepticons, held tensely down and back, and his optics had widened and paled, peering past her at something in the 'bay. Evelyn turned to see what had caused such a reaction.

Next she saw Jazz, the white paint of his legs spattered with a substance that was suspiciously like mud, and the scent of wet earth could be detected faintly beneath the overall aromas of metal and ozone. Her stomach lurched.

Beside Jazz was Sunstreaker, his legs smeared with the same brown-red substance, his optics nearly back to the white-blue shade they had been when she had first met him on Earth, and the yellow mech jerked around to stare fixedly at her, expression unreadable. Ratchet and Wheeljack --_Oh, Ratchet finally got the arm done, _she thought vaguely.-- were bent over one of the tables.

Atop the table was what first appeared to be a pile of metal scrap. Then she saw the hints of red and black metal amongst the mass of gunmetal gray, a hand here, a headlight there, and the picture seemed to shift and warp and reform before her eyes, revealing Sideswipe's mutilated shell lying lifelessly upon the table.

Not even the faintest hint of ringing could be heard from the mass of metal, and Evelyn felt distantly that she was going to be sick.

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Eight**


	30. Closer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **

**Author Notes:** Oh. My. God. Everyone, go and see Dark Knight _right now. _Forget reading Jux, forget that date you had planned, forget your doctor's appointment, just go. Disturbing and freakish as the Joker is, he utterly pwns all past Jokers. Utter thrill-ride, all the way through. :3 (End Geek-out.)

Another note? Everyone, meet Eve, Ace's oh-so-shiny successor. Say hello!

(Me? Procrastinator? _Never.)_

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Twenty-Nine**

* * *

_**Nurse: **__Okay, young man, what seems to be the problem?__**  
Carey: **__Overprotective parents.__**  
Nurse: **__There's no cure for that.  
__**Carey: **__Tell me about it.  
_**- ****So Weird**

* * *

Perhaps it was simply her own sense of shock, or maybe there was a sort of shared horror resonating between herself and Sideswipe, but at that moment, Evelyn knew that she wanted to be anywhere else, _anywhere, _except in the same room as the lifeless metal husk that had once been a sentient being. The four mechs gathered around the shell all stared at her with paled optics and varied expressions; Sunstreaker's intense, Ratchet's unreadable, Wheeljack's sympathetic, and Jazz's uncomfortable.

"Bluestreak," she whispered, "let's go."

"Um." A faint tremor traveled through the gunner's frame. "Uh, where...?"

"Anywhere," she replied, voice cracking, heart pounding. "Please."

The gray mech did not hesitate any longer, backing out the still-open doorway and striding away from the medbay, wing-panels still lowered defensively, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time. Evelyn curled in upon herself, swallowing back the taste of bile lingering in her throat. Sideswipe said nothing, sitting still and silent at the back of her mind.

She paid little attention to the passing hallways. Her hands trembled, so she clenched her fingers in the loose fabric of her shirt, but her heart was not so easy to settle, nor her mind. Her thoughts refused to calm, jumping from subject to subject like hoards of fleas.

_His shell. We're at Earth? My _god, _what the hell happened to his shell...? When can I leave? They lied to me. I'm home, finally, finally, finally... Guess this explains where Jazz and Sunstreaker have been. They didn't technically lie, not really... Don't cry. Can Ratchet repair that much damage? Sideswipe? God, Sunstreaker's going to go insane. It's a lie by _omission. _How far away are we? Couldn't they have told me? Christ. What did he do, jump off a cliff?_

_... They _lied _to me._

Her eyes burned, and it had nothing to do with the aching in her temples. She leaned forward and pressed her knuckles against her eyelids.

"Evelyn?" Bluestreak's voice was quiet, tentative.

"Not now, Blue."

"Just... Ratchet commed. He says to be back within a third of a joor."

A laugh escaped before she could help it. It was an ugly sound.

"Ratchet can go reformat himself with a _cattle prod," _she rasped, still pressing against her eyes until she could see nothing but explosions of not-colors behind her lids.

Bluestreak's systems whirred a little unsteadily. "I don't think he'll like that very much."

That was true. While Evelyn, upset as she was, did not think Ratchet was one to 'shoot a messenger', she did not doubt at all that the temperamental medic was not above giving the messenger one hell of an earful (or a dented helm).

"Fine," she sighed. "Two hours. Whatever."

* * *

Jazz caught up with them in the rec room. Bluestreak had acquired a table in the very back corner, well away from what few mechs also occupied the room, and Evelyn sat with her shoulders propped against an empty energon cube. She glanced up briefly when the black and white mech took a seat next to the gunner. Bluestreak shifted uncomfortably, his gaze going from the older mech to Evelyn and back again, and Sideswipe was still either sulking or in shock and had no commentary to add.

"Evy…" Jazz began.

"I'm not sure I'm on speaking terms with you right now."

"We didn't –"

"Tell me? No, you certainly didn't."

"I'm –"

"A complete jerk? Far be it for me to argue."

"_Evelyn."_

She hunched her shoulders, turning her head away from the mech's annoyed frown. Part of her still simmered with anger; the other part knew she was acting like a six year-old and was ashamed.

Jazz's systems vented with that familiar sigh-like sound. "Evelyn… I wanted t' tell ya, but Ratchet wanted us t' try an' make it a… a 'clean break'. He doesn't want ya shuffled back and forth from Earth. He says it'll stress yer systems."

Evelyn pondered that. She rubbed at her eyes, uncertain whether her current headache was from stress or merely her situation in general.

"You know," she said at last, "you guys have got a serious case of 'It's For Your Own Good' going on. It's getting old."

"Ratchet's jus' tryin' t' look out for ya."

"Jazz, I'm nearly thirty years old. And yes, I know that to you guys that's nothing at all, but do you understand that humans live, on average, just eighty years? We're considered adults when we hit twenty-one. Comparison-wise, I'm probably just as old as you are, or Prowl, or Wheeljack… maybe not Ratchet… but still."

"I'm sorry."

She sighed. "Me, too."

There was a brief pause. Evelyn glanced up at the black and white mech's pensive expression.

"Did you at least bring me a souvenir?"

"'Fraid not. Maybe next time?"

"I'll write out a shopping list for you. It's getting pretty long at this point, you know."

Bluestreak made a low chuffing noise, neither a laugh nor a growl nor a sigh, drawing Evelyn's and Jazz's attention. "Will Prowl authorize anyone to go back to the surface, you think? I mean, did you get all of the parts? What about the Decepticons that were down there? We'd want to recover them too, wouldn't we?"

Jazz frowned. "All of 'em were scrapped except fer Torque. I'm not sure what happened t' th' shells, though." His visor flickered briefly. "Prowl doesn't think it'll be a problem. Vehicle shells that can't be repaired get put into 'junkyards' and left t' rust."

"That's… not exactly true," said Evelyn.

"Whatcha' mean?"

"I mean that if someone's car breaks down because, oh… because their transmission breaks. They can go to a junkyard to try and find a working transmission on a broken car that they can buy cheap to fix their own car. Or the broken cars can get sold for scrap and melted down to make new things, but…" She remembered the black car-hood with the Decepticon logo sneering up at her. Even a sledgehammer had not been able to dent it. "I don't know. Your armor is pretty tough stuff. I don't know if they'd be able to crush _or _melt it."

"… oh." Jazz's visor had begun to flicker again, this time for a more prolonged period.

Bluestreak glanced back and forth between them. "Is that bad?"

"We might have t' try a recovery operation after all," said Jazz. "Prowl wants t' make sure we don't leave traces. I always thought that th' junkyards were th' end o' th' road."

"I know for a fact that at least one of the… shells… was scavenged. The high school mechanics class–" She noticed their utterly bemused expressions and rephrased, "Younglings. Protoforms? A group of younglings in a… an education center. They're studying how to repair cars, and they had car-hood from one of the Decepticons in their class to use for a project."

Jazz's visor flickered for one last time before returning to its steady blue glow. "Prowl says he'll hafta' 'reassess th' situation'."

"If you go on another trip down, I _am_ making you a shopping list." She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed, the too-familiar prickle of tears building behind her eyes. "I just… You can't take me back? Not even for a little bit? It's not like I'd run away… or even like I could, what with Sideswipe lighting me up like a fireworks display."

"I'll talk t' Prowl again, but I don't think he'll go for it. It's not that we don't trust ya. There's jus' a lotta' unknowns. What if there are 'Cons on the surface that we don't know about? What if somethin' goes wrong an' we can't get t' ya? It's jus' safer if ya wait 'til we get Sides outta' ya."

"… Prowl sent you down here to play diplomat, didn't he?" She peered up at the visored mech out of the corner of her eye. He tilted his head in the familiar mech version of a shrug.

"I was already on my way t' talk with ya. Just 'cause we've got orders t' follow an' duties t' take care of don't mean we ain't genuinely yer friends, y'know."

Evelyn gave an unsteady little puff of a laugh. _Well, there's my warm fuzzy for the day._

"Thanks, Jazz." She rubbed briskly at her face. "Okay. I can handle another orn or two. I can do that. Couple more weeks. I've survived god-only-knows how much longer than that already, right?"

"Atta' girl. An' if we do go back t' th' surface, ya give me whatever list ya make out, an' I'll get ya whatever I can, alright? Mirage can turn invisible, but I'm not exactly a slouch when it comes t' sneakin' around."

But Evelyn's mind was already leaping down other avenues of thought. "Jazz… how long _have_ I been onboard? What day is it on Earth? Do you know?"

Her only measure of Earth time had been her monthly cycles, but any woman knew that such things were easily influenced by stress, diet, general health, and any number of other things… not that she had been keeping an exact count, but the fact remained that it still was not a reliable measure of passing time.

_Five or six? _she thought. _Maybe more. Surely not more than ten…?_

_Dear god, how long have I been gone?_

She had the sneaking suspicion that as soon as Sideswipe was returned to his shell, she was due for one doozy of a mental breakdown. Abduction by giant alien robots and prolonged separation from all things beloved and familiar warranted more than this vague feeling of disconcertment, didn't it?

"–twenty-eighth," Jazz was saying.

"What was that?" she asked, shaking off her musings.

"October twenty-eighth," said the black and white mech again. "According t' th' internet linkup, anyway."

"But I left in Augu…" Her mouth snapped shut.

_Oh, _hell.

"Jazz, what _year?"_

* * *

The shell had vanished by the time they returned to the medbay. Jazz walked her back since Bluestreak had been due for monitor duty, and Evelyn was grateful for the change of chaperone: she doubted that she would suffer near as much guilt from letting Jazz witness her in a 'sniz-fit' rather than Bluestreak. (It really was odd how much a thirty-foot mech could remind her so much of a human child; sometimes it was really hard not to just hug him… or whatever bit of him was hug-sized.)

The medic exited one of the private rooms just as Jazz and Evelyn entered the 'bay. Ratchet must have sensed something of her mood, through either the medbay sensors or the murderous scowl upon her features, because he paused halfway across the room and eyed her the way one might a Pomeranian or Chihuahua showing signs of violence: _Probably won't kill me, but I bet this is going to hurt._

Evelyn's headache was back with a vengeance, merely fueling her ire. When she spoke, each syllable was clipped and precise, utterly void of any hint of her usual Southern lilt.

"Fourteen months," she said. "I've been gone for _fourteen months."_

"Yes…?"

"Ratchet, do you know what my mother is going to _do _to me? If you think Sunstreaker is scary where Sideswipe is concerned, you really have no idea what Earth women are capable of. Not to mention Jamie. I'm dead! I'm deader than dead. I'm six feet under with no sign of daylight! They are going to _murder _me!"

For a moment, Ratchet's expression spoke of muted but very real alarm.

"She's exaggeratin', doc," said Jazz, rumbling quietly.

"So speaks the thirty-foot metal-man," Evelyn retorted, slumping. "Sure, they can't hurt _you. _Me? I'm dead meat. They've got forty acres of woodland; no one'll ever find the body."

"Evelyn, I really don't understand," Ratchet ventured at last.

"I'm saying that I'm going to need a damn good reason for disappearing _without a trace _for over a year! That's a long time for humans. And 'kidnapped by giant alien robots' is not going to cut it!"

"Mechs," Ratchet corrected, optics narrowing.

"That won't cut it, either," she replied. "I'm a boring person, Ratchet. Work and home, and the occasional vacation. That's it! It's not like I could suddenly become a P.O.W. in some third-world country–"

"Prisoner Of War," Jazz supplied helpfully, seeing Ratchet's bemusement.

"–or get kidnapped and held for ransom by some mafia group! The only Italians I know own Mama Mia's Pizza Parlor on Seventh and Main!"

"… can't help with that one," said Jazz, still sounding far-too-amused for Evelyn's taste. "Evy, Prowl's working on it, alright? We're not jus' gonna' dump ya in some abandoned lot an' leave ya."

"I should hope not," growled Ratchet. "After all the work keeping you functional, I'm slagging well not going to leave you to deactivate in the wild somewhere! Calm down. It's time for you to recharge, anyway."

Evelyn pressed her fingers against her temples. "Yeah, so I can dream of Jamie and those six semesters of jujitsu classes she always crowed about during college. Have I mentioned that I'm dead?"

* * *

As it turned out, Evelyn did not dream of Jamie. Sideswipe reemerged from his self-imposed silence just as she was beginning to drift off.

'_We're going to have to stick close to Sunny for a while,' _he said, sounding thoughtful and subdued.

Evelyn blinked fuzzily at the shadowed ceiling so far overhead. _He's on the 'schedule', isn't he?_

'_No, I mean as long as possible, not just a joor or two.'_

_You didn't seem so concerned earlier today._

'_Because ten to one, he was on the rec deck beating the ever-loving slag out of every drone he could get his hands on.' _A brief pause. _'When he runs out of drones…'_

Evelyn suddenly felt very much awake. _Oh._

_I… alright. I can understand that._

_Mech-sitting. Fun._

'_Better that than having him go off on the next mech that vents on him.'_

_You're kidding, right? Tell me you're kidding._

'_Let me tell you about how we first got chucked in the brig while we were working at Axis Nebulon…'_

* * *

**End Chapter Twenty-Nine**


	31. Brig

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Standard stuff. Minor cursing, minor violence… Sunstreaker…

**Author Notes:** Why, why, _why _is this stupid site trying to eat all my underlined text? DX

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty**

* * *

_**Christopher Titus: **__Uh, excuse me. Christopher Titus; my brother's been arrested.  
__**Police Officer: **__Who's your brother?__**  
Christopher Titus:**__ ... You must be new here.__**  
**_**- ****Titus**

* * *

As per many of her mornings aboard Metellus Cursor, Evelyn's day began when her internal alarm prodded her awake. Unlike most people, however, Evelyn's internal alarm had a name, and that name was Sideswipe.

'_You going to get up, or am I?'_

_Hmph._

_If you have someplace to be, you can darn well wait until I get around to getting there._

'_Aw, c'mon. It's not like you're doing anything. I want to see Sunny.'_

She snorted sleepily into the lump of towel currently acting as her pillow. _Wow. It's like arguing with Dick over who gets to take out the Oldsmobile._

_Good times._

_And again: _no. _My body. Not yours. _

Pause.

Then, in a faint, sing-song tone:

'_I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves…'_

Evelyn's eyes snapped open. _Oh, no._

Stronger now, and with a definite smug overtone._ 'I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves.' _

_Don't you _dare.

'_I know a song that gets on everybody's nerves!'_

_Sideswipe!_

'_And this is how it go-o-oes!' _Practically crowing now. _'I know a song–' _

"Fine!" Evelyn threw aside the towel covering her and sat up, head aching, back stiff, and eyes gummy with sleep. "Aft! But I _am _going to take a shower first, and God or… or Primus or whoever help you if you say I'm not!"

The voice chortled happily to itself and retreated to the back of her mind.

_Why did I ever let him watch TV…?_

* * *

She emerged into the main 'bay some time later, hair hanging down her back in heavy tendrils, one step removed from dripping wet, and immediately noticed the very obvious lack of a certain CMO's presence.

In Ratchet's place, however, was Jazz, seated upon one of the medbay tables, feet swaying idly as though he were a young child waiting outside the doctor's office.

He turned his usual brilliant smile towards her when she entered. "Heya, Evy."

She stopped short.

"Holy _hell." _Evelyn stared at the spiderweb of cracks extending across nearly half of the blue visor. "Jazz, what happened to you?"

The mech grinned ruefully, tilting his head. Light played across the cracks like faint flickers of lightning. "Bad timin'."

Evelyn trotted nearer. "'Bad _timing'?"_ she demanded. "Your chronometer reared up and slugged you across the face?"

"Don't get excited. Ratch always has a spare or two handy." He tapped the undamaged side of his visor. "Get in a fight, an' everyone goes straight fer the head. Kinda' annoyin', but I'm used t' it by now."

'_Permission to speak?' _asked Sideswipe, an odd, tense tone to his voice.

_Granted._

"_Don't try and change the subject."_

Jazz's relaxed, slouched posture straightened minutely, grin transforming into a pensive not-quite-frown. "Sideswipe?"

"_I'd recognize Sunny's handiwork anywhere. Not to mention there probably isn't a single other mech on board with the bearings to assault a senior officer. What the slag happened?"_

The mech's engine revved and settled and revved again, sounding almost thoughtful. He vented a soft sigh, then said, "Fine. I was headed t' th' sparrin' rings an' bumped into Sunshine. Sunshine didn't like bein' bumped into. We had a li'l… tiff."

_Oh, lord, _moaned Evelyn.

Ratchet re-entered from the hallway at that moment, a replacement visor in hand, the material appearing a dark blue-gray without light coming from within, wires trailing from the back and sides.

"_What happened to Sunny?" _demanded Sideswipe.

"Later, Sideswipe," said Ratchet. "Jazz, back room?"

"Yeah, doc. Thanks." The black and white mech pushed himself off the medbay table.

"_Not 'later'!" _snapped Sideswipe, directing Evelyn's body to run alongside the table, attempting to keep pace with the mechs as they made their way to one of the private rooms. _"Where is my brother?"_

Ratchet paused in the doorway, sending a displeased glare their way. "Where do you think?"

The medic disappeared into the room, and the door slid into place, the keypad on the wall flicking from green to red as the lock was engaged.

Evelyn's hands clenched and unclenched as Sideswipe fumed. _"Shit."_

Evelyn ignored the voice's sudden use of Earth curses. _The brig?_

'_Where else? Rusting piece of Pit-spawn – I can't believe this!'_

_You said that he would probably get in trouble. You told me last night about the "I Know You Didn't Just Vent On Me" incident._

'_I was still kind of hoping he could restrain himself for a couple joors! Slaggit!'_

_He's got to be okay, _she tried to soothe. _They wouldn't leave him in there if he were hurt._

'_He _hates _the brig.'_

Evelyn paused, considering the non-sequitur from every possible angle.

… _If he doesn't like the brig, then maybe he shouldn't pick fights with ranking officers._

'_Not his fault,' _growled Sideswipe. _'Ratchet said it himself. He's under stress. Of course he's going to be more irritable.'_

_Happens to me at That Time every month. I haven't gone psycho._

Sideswipe's response was a lengthy silence which clearly stated that while he did not agree, he was at least smart enough to not say so outright, especially since That Time was looming worryingly close. Still in control, he stalked toward the main 'bay doors.

Evelyn's mood took a swift nosedive. _Where do you think you're going?_

'_I'm going to see my brother.'_

_Oh, _hell _no! _She gave an almighty mental twist, throwing off the pins-and-needles sensation of Sideswipe's control, and stumbled to a halt in the middle of the medbay floor. _Not happening! The last time you took us gallivanting around the ship, Red Alert used me as a stress-ball!_

'_Oh, hell _yes,' snapped the voice, fighting back and pushing her forward another few feet before Evelyn regained control. _'And it's not like he did any lasting damage!'_

_This is what I sound like when I'm _not laughing, _Sideswipe. _She dropped to her knees and crouched there, steeling herself, muscles trembling, headache growing beyond a mild ache into something less dull and more viciously sharp. _I am not setting foot outside that door without a bodyguard!_

Sideswipe _pushed, _forcing her to a half-standing position before Evelyn _pushed _back. Unfortunately, said pushing resulted in one foot moving one way and one foot another, landing the shared body spread-eagled upon the floor in a painful, graceless belly-flop.

For a few minutes, the struggle was forgotten as they both merely concentrated on blocking pain and coaxing affronted lungs to resume their assigned duties of supplying the body with much-needed air.

… _I hate you._

'_You're not winning yourself many points at the moment either, you know.'_

_And now my head hurts._ She rested her forehead against the wonderfully cool metal floor and waited for her breathing to return to something approaching normal.

'_Our head.'_

My _head, you parasitic bastard. _Her lips pulled back in a frustrated snarl as she squeezed her eyes closed against her headache. _Mine, mine, mine, mine, _mine.

Silence.

Her breathing slowly resumed its normal pace, and her heart settled into its usual rhythm. The headache ebbed slightly as she relaxed, and she gathered herself to push into an upright position when–

'_You promised.'_

She paused. She blinked. _I beg your pardon?_

'_You _promised. _Last night, you said we'd spend the day with Sunny.'_

_Last night, he wasn't in the brig._

'_Which is all the more reason to be with him.' _The voice held that quiet, stubborn, anxious tone that always made her feel like an absolute schmuck for disagreeing with whatever he had to suggest. _'I can't leave him alone down there. Evelyn, he really does hate the brig.'_

"Jesus," mumbled Evelyn. She pushed herself into a seated position and scrubbed her hands over her face. _I can't believe you're trying to talk me into spending my entire day in the giant alien robot version of Time Out._

'_Eh?'_

_Nevermind. _She sighed. _So, he "hates" the brig. _

'_Yes.'_

_And you want to see him._

'_Right.'_

She gave an inarticulate sound of frustration and pinched the bridge of her nose. _I've said it before, but it bears repeating: you _owe _me._

'_Is that a yes?'_

_As soon as Ratchet is done, I'll see if Jazz will give us a lift._

'_Yes! Thank you!'_

* * *

Ratchet's glower had clearly indicated that he disapproved of any jaunts down to the brig to see 'that fraggin' yellow piece of psychotic Pit-spawn,' but the newly-repaired Jazz, being the easygoing and oh-so-obliging mech that he was, had no problem walking her down to see Sunstreaker. They chatted amiably on the way, and there was no extreme temperature change as there had been last time. Metellus had clearly been keeping the environmental specs well-maintained.

They entered the brig, and there was a large black and red mech seated at the security console, appearing only mildly bored with his current duty.

"Hey, Inferno," Jazz said, and the mech responded with a nod and a genial greeting of his own.

_Red Alert's… bonded, _Evelyn thought, and she smiled and nodded at the mech, too, wondering to herself how a nice mech like this 'resonated' with someone like Red Alert.

She was still a little bitter over the squeezing incident.

In the same cell as before, Sunstreaker lounged sullenly upon a metal bench, hemmed in by cell bars that glowed and hummed with energy.

"Right here is fine, Jazz," she said.

Hesitating only briefly, he set her down upon the floor. Drawing herself up to her full (and considering her current surroundings, inconsequential) height, she strode nearer to the bars. Sunstreaker glowered at her, optics pale, but said nothing.

Evelyn broke the silent staring contest by sighing in a put-upon manner and folding her arms across her chest.

"'He will win,'" she quoted, "'who knows when to fight and when not to fight.'"

"What?" growled the yellow mech.

"From an Earth book, _The Art of War _by Sun Tzu. I had to do an end-of-term paper on it during my senior year. You guys might find it an enlightening read. In fact, I may speak to Prowl about adding it to Metellus' databases." The mech let out a loud, mechanical scoff. Evelyn raised her own voice and continued as though he had not interrupted, "Sun Tzu also says 'He who wishes to fight must first count the cost.' Do you sense a theme?"

"Either mute it or beat it, squishy."

"Nice," she sighed. Eyeing the glowing bars of the cell warily, she eased forward, and ignoring her chaperones' startled protests, she turned sideways and slipped past the barrier, feeling the heat emanating off the bars of light on her arms and face, skin prickling, and stepped into the cell. Sunstreaker eyed her as she approached, his expression unreadable. "Look, Sunshine, I don't feel good. I haven't felt good for quite a while, to be brutally honest, but Sideswipe spends ninety-percent of his time now dithering over whether or not you're okay, so here I am."

Sideswipe did not dispute the point, which merely proved to Evelyn just how worried he really was.

"Like I care what you or my slag-headed brother thinks," replied the yellow mech, lips peeled back in a snarl. "Go play with the minis or the rookie."

"You _are _in a mood today." She walked over to stand beside the warrior's oversized feet, then peered up into those too-pale eyes. She cringed a little in sympathy when she saw the telltale scrape along his silver jawline and several dings and dents in his armor that had most definitely not been there the last time she had seen him. "Oh, _ouch."_

"See something interesting?" growled Sunstreaker, eyes narrowed.

"Don't get pissy with me. I'm being sympathetic." She eased nearer, noting several other mildly damaged areas on his frame. _No wonder he's in a mood. He's probably having palpitations over his paintjob._

'_It certainly isn't helping matters,' _agreed Sideswipe. _'Want me to handle him?'_

_Aren't you tired?_

'_You hate dealing with Sunny.'_

_More like he hates dealing with me, _she replied wryly. _You're welcome to it, though._

Sideswipe took over, and Evelyn settled in to endure the standard brotherly bonding.

"_Well, you're not going to pick a fight with Jazz again, now, are you?" _asked Sideswipe in a thoroughly patronizing tone.

(There may have been a quiet rumble from somewhere outside the cell, but Evelyn could not be certain.)

"Shut up, slagger." Contrary to the growled tone, the mech leaned forward and wrapped gentle fingers around her torso, lifting her up and setting her upon the bench next to him.

"_Careful, bro. Between us, I'm not the one who looks slagged."_

"I can fix that."

Within her mind, Evelyn sighed. _And here we go…_

It should not have surprised her, but Sideswipe's control did not last very long. The fight from earlier must have sapped him more than he'd thought, and they had both been very tired recently. The brotherly sniping lasted perhaps an hour, hour and a half, before Sideswipe's speech began to slow.

Seated upon the bench beside Sunstreaker, Evelyn felt the pins-and-needles sensation falter for a moment.

"_Ah, Primus," _muttered Sideswipe through her. _"Sorry, Sunny, I think it's recharge time… again."_

The yellow mech let out a noncommittal grumble of his systems.

"_This isn't fair," _continued the disembodied twin. _"I want my body back."_

_Ratchet's working on it, _Evelyn tried to soothe.

"_Heh, just think of all the trouble we can get into once I'm back in working order."_

"Yes, just look where it's gotten me," growled Sunstreaker.

"_Ah, point." _

Sideswipe's control faltered again. He had time for one more mutter of _"Aw, bolts" _before Evelyn's body became her own once more.

She sighed and stretched; she couldn't help it. Sunstreaker eyed her bitterly, no doubt blaming her for his brother's current situation.

_And this is the part where he usually grabs me up and marches back to his quarters, waiting for 'socialization' to be up._

She glanced over. The mech was obviously tenser, though that could have just been from Sideswipe's disappearance.

"One thing I haven't been able to figure out," she murmured, talking more to herself than to the yellow mech, "is why you have to go hide every time Sideswipe vanishes."

Sunstreaker's head snapped toward her so abruptly that she was surprised he didn't pop a servo. _"Hide?" _he demanded fiercely.

She held up one hand, palm toward him, in a placating gesture. "Granted, maybe not the best word for the situation, but what would you call it? Whenever Sideswipe has to rest, you drop whatever you're doing and haul me to your quarters and wait there until it's time to take me back to Ratchet."

The warrior's systems snarled like some enraged jungle cat.

"I've told you before: after this mess is over, I don't care if you live or die. I don't care if they jettison you from an airlock or wrap you in packing fluff and carry you back to your mudball of a planet like the most fragile piece of Artrellian sculpture ever created.

"Sideswipe," growled the mech, "is all that matters."

She stared blankly up into those pale, scowling optics as something within her mind went _click._

_He doesn't have anyone else._

For no reason she could readily explain, she felt as though someone had punched her in the gut. The brig walls pressed in on her as her thoughts delved rapidly down paths they had never before explored.

_He and Sideswipe both… These are their people, but other than that, they're just as much strangers here as me._

_And I've had Sideswipe holding my hand every step of the way, and Ratchet, and Jazz, and Blue…_

Sunstreaker's expression was melting from irritated to confused as she continued to peer up at him, and he shifted restlessly.

… _but he hasn't had anyone._

She abruptly remembered a day long, long ago, back when she viewed her parents as giants equal to any Cybertronian, and her sister was a boy-obsessed klutz, and her brother –caught soundly in the throes of some strange illness called 'puberty'– had metamorphosed from an idolized hero to an utterly alien species. That day, she had been ejected from his bedroom none-too-gently, accompanied by an infuriated bellow of _"Get _out, _you little brat!"_

Evelyn sat down firmly in the hallway and began to wail.

Her father heard the racket and gave Dick a talking-to that climaxed with the teenager screaming that they didn't understand, no one cared, and why couldn't they just leave him _alone? _

Ethan Hughes had granted his wish. Dick was grounded for a week.

Evelyn, vindicated but no less upset about her big brother's sudden hatred for all things small and Evelyn-shaped, cuddled with her favorite plush rabbit and paged absently through her well-worn copy of _Goodnight Moon, _trying to ignore the faint throb of Dick's music that set the walls vibrating and Lizzy's off-key humming/singing to whatever was playing on her walkman.

Then, after supper – and Evelyn remembered even that: spaghetti and tomato sauce with a special side of slices of garlic cheese bread, her mother's way of attempting to cheer her daughter's still-sour mood, – Maria Hughes had loaded a plate with generous servings and filled a glass with tea, tucked several of her son's wayward car magazines beneath her arm, and disappeared into her son's room. The throbbing music cut off, and Evelyn stared down the hallway, feeling betrayed.

"_You're being _nice _to him!" _she blurted accusingly when her mother exited minutes later, minus food, tea, and magazines.

"_Well, yes," _her mother admitted.

"_Why? He's just being plain old mean!"_

"_That doesn't mean your father or I… or you or Lizzy, for that matter, love him any less."_

This logic went clear over Evelyn's head; she tilted her head and squinted up at her mother, awaiting clarification. Maria Hughes chuckled, settled upon the couch, and pulled her daughter onto her lap.

"_Let's see, how to explain…" _she murmured, playing gently with Evelyn's ponytail. _"Evelyn, everyone needs at least one person who will always be on their side. No matter how silly, how selfish, or how… mean–"_ She glanced at her daughter. _"–they are, _everyone _needs that support._

"_Not to say that special person can't give them a quick kick in the rear and tell them how silly, selfish, or mean they're being," _Maria added, grinning slyly at her daughter, prompting a giggle from the young girl. _"And you… just think how _lucky _you are. You've got me, and your father, and Lizzy, and even Dick, believe it or not, and Uncle Titus, and Gram Meredith, and so, so, so many others that all love you, no matter what. Isn't that a wonderful thought?"_

"What are you _staring _at?" demanded Sunstreaker, snapping her back to the present.

She blinked and shook her head, brushing her bangs away from her face and taking a deep, steadying breath.

_He's a giant teenager, _she thought. _A teenager stuck in the middle of a war, with only his brother for company._

_I don't know if that's scary or sad._

He was still glaring down at her, awaiting a reply.

"You…" she said at last. She paused, reconsidered, and tried again. "You're a good big brother, Sunstreaker."

The blank, bewildered expression upon the warrior's face was almost worth the utter feeling of embarrassment over the inane statement.

Jazz rumbled softly in amusement. "Evy, c'mon, Ratchet says it's time for ya t' refuel."

Evelyn frowned pensively, still dwelling upon her recent brainstorm, and glanced briefly away from Sunstreaker to peer at Jazz waiting beyond the glowing cell bars. The black and white mech had been extremely patient with her, chatting quietly with Inferno or just standing silent and watching.

Evelyn looked back at Sunstreaker. Was it her imagination, or had he tensed when Jazz spoke?

_Someone always on their side, huh, mama?_

She laughed quietly to herself, then got to her feet, strolled over to where Sunstreaker sat, and settled herself beside his thigh, proceeding to lean back against the warm metal and make herself comfortable. The yellow warriors systems revved loudly, and if he had not been tense before, he certainly was now.

"Uh… Evy?" queried Jazz, sounding thoroughly bemused.

"I think I'm quite comfortable where I am," she replied, smiling. "I did promise Sideswipe I'd spend the day with Sunstreaker, after all."

"Evelyn, he's gonna be in there for… a while."

She hummed in an unconcerned fashion. "Well, whenever he gets out, I'll be sure to grab something to eat. Let Ratchet know for me, won't you? I don't want him _worried_ or anything."

_It's called a sit-in, Jazz, _she thought with smug amusement. _I wonder if that computes._

There was a pause broken only by the rumbling of the mechs' systems.

Jazz glanced toward Inferno. "I'll be back in a tic, 'kay?" he said and quickly strode out of the room.

Inferno was watching Evelyn and Sunstreaker as though they had suddenly transformed into something utterly incomprehensible, but Evelyn ignored him and leaned her head back against Sunstreaker's thigh. Vibrations from his systems travelled through the metal and into her skull and back like some strange massage, not altogether unpleasant.

"You," said the warrior at last, "are getting organic secretions all over my armor."

She chuckled. "Oh, hush. I'll help you wash it off later."

"Hmph."

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty**


	32. Nearing

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing, mild gore

**Author Notes:** And cue the triumphant music! And here ya'll thought I was dead. X3

**

* * *

Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-One**

_

* * *

The path has never seemed more slow, and yet I fear I am __nearing__ its __end__.  
_**- Reinette Poisson, ****Doctor Who**

* * *

Ratchet was not a happy mech.

At least, if the twitching hands and pale, narrowed optics were anything to go by, he certainly was not in the best of moods. Evelyn was abruptly grateful for the imposing row of glowing prison bars that stood between her and the infuriated medic, not to mention the thirty-foot yellow mech whose thigh was currently acting as her backrest. Sunstreaker would stop Ratchet if he tried anything violent, right?

Right?

"_What," _demanded the medic, "do you think you're playing at?"

Jazz lurked in the background, mouth pursed in a way that suggested he was trying really, really hard not to grin a Cheshire grin at the predicament. Inferno merely remained seating, though Evelyn was pretty sure that he was leaning away from the fuming medic, as though those few extra feet of distance would save him from a grisly, Ratchet-induced death.

_He won't kill me, _she told herself. _He's a medic. Do no harm._

_Cybertronians have a version of the Hippocratic Oath, don't they?_

"I'm not playing at anything," she replied, aiming for breezy and hitting somewhere more around squeaky. "I'm just keeping Sunstreaker company."

"In the _brig."_

"Well, if he were in the rec room or the washracks, I'd visit him there."

"Get out of there this instant!"

Evelyn eyed the medic thoughtfully, leaning further back against Sunstreaker's thigh. On one hand, the CMO sounded remarkably like her Uncle Titus that time he had found her crouched within the chicken coop, trying to catch a baby chick too keep as a pet. On the other hand, this was the first time that Ratchet's infamous temper had been directed her way, and damn if the guy was not scary as hell.

_C'mon, girl. Stick to your guns._

"You know," she said, voice still marred by that treacherous squeak, "I don't think I will."

Stunned silence fell over the room. Inferno looked as though he would overbalance and fall out of his chair at any moment now, and Jazz made a quick sidestep nearer to the door.

"What," asked Ratchet, sounding remarkably civil, "did you just say?"

_Wow. Who'd have thought he could sound even scarier? _she thought, trying to breathe around where her heart had taken up residence somewhere in her upper bronchial tubes.

"I," she said – and now her voice was squeaky _and _quivering, "am not going to move. I promised Sideswipe I'd stay around Sunstreaker, so as long as Sunstreaker happens to be in the brig…"

"_He's scheduled for half an orn of disciplinary confinement!"_ snarled the medic. Evelyn's ears rang from the volume of his voice, and she rubbed at the appendages soothingly.

"Ever heard the term 'indoor voice,' Ratchet?" she asked.

"Evelyn!" The medic's voice warbled strangely as he made an obvious effort to control his volume. He drew a deep draught of air into his cooling systems, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"You… are wasting valuable time that I could be using to repair Sideswipe's shell," growled the medic, and Evelyn winced. Sunstreaker, silent up to this point and seemingly content to watch the verbal sparring play out as it would, let out a low growl of his own, and she felt it thrum through his armor and into her body.

She glared. "That's a low blow, Ratchet."

"It is an honest fact," he replied icily.

"Oh, you want to talk _facts?" _She was the youngest child of three and the youngest cousin of seven; she knew a thing or two about fighting dirty. "How about the fact that you have withheld valuable information, pertinent to my situation, from me not once but twice? Twice that I'm _aware _of, anyway. How about the fact that you insist on treating me like a mindless child instead of a mature adult? You think I'm childish? Fine. Consider this a tantrum."

"_What?"_

"You've gone out of your way to help me – _well _out of your way – and I appreciate that, but Ratchet, what makes you think that never telling me _anything _about my situation is going to make me feel better? Yes, ignorance is bliss for awhile, but that just makes it even more like a punch in the gut when I do find out what's going on. Want to guess which is more stressful in the long run?"

The medic gaped.

"And not that I'm condoning his behavior, but Sunstreaker has been in just as bad a situation. I wouldn't begin to know what a bond is like, but from the way that ya'll act, it's got even more of an effect on your systems than hormones or… or instincts or anything like that do with me. And if the only thing that makes it better is being near Sideswipe, then the best thing for me to do is sit right here, isn't it?"

"I don't –"

"So the way I look at it," she continued quickly, "I'm actually doing you a favor. A calm Sunstreaker means a less violent Sunstreaker means less repairs for you to mess with while you're trying to get Sideswipe's shell patched together. Right?"

"The same effect can be achieved by leaving him locked in there until the repair work is done," said the red and white mech, each word enunciated with careful, furious precision.

"Yes, but this is much more humane, don't you think?" she replied, smiling sweetly.

The medic grumbled incoherently to himself.

Sensing a proverbial chink in the red and white mech's armor, she added, "C'mon, Ratchet. I never ask for anything. Think of it as an early Christmas present or late birthday or something."

She blinked at that thought. _Cripes, I missed my last birthday. And Christmas._

_God, that's depressing._

The conversation had been effectively derailed.

"What?" asked Ratchet, mood flipping from irritated to bemused.

"I, uh…" Evelyn struggled to regain her mental footing. "Er, Christmas is a holiday. Friends and family give presents to each other to show how much they appreciate one another. Your birthday is when you're born; once a year, people give you presents on that day, and you have parties and stuff. It's mostly for kids. They have parties and invite all their friends. Adults use it as an excuse to get together… in my family, anyway."

"Ya have a lotta days like that?" asked Jazz, intrigued.

"Tons of holidays." She laughed. "You might want to research it for yourself. I'd probably crash your programming trying to explain most of them. Like Saint Patrick's Day. Or Halloween."

Ratchet mouthed 'Halloween' with the expression of one who was curious but was not sure they really wanted to know more.

Feeling reckless and a little vindictive, Evelyn added, "People dress up as monsters and go from house to house asking for food, and if people don't give it to them, they throw chicken eggs –the reproductive cells of a flying animal- at the houses or cover them with toilet paper - long strands of white fabric that break down when wet. People also buy organic tubers and hollow them out so that they can cut faces into them, then put a light inside so that it will scare off evil spirits."

Ratchet, Jazz, Inferno, and Sunstreaker all stared at her blankly. She held up her hands.

"I'm not kidding," she said, giggling. "I swear!"

Jazz started to laugh. "I'm tellin' Prowl!"

"The frag you are!" snarled Ratchet, aiming a fierce swipe at the side of the saboteur's helmet – which Jazz easily ducked, even half-incapacitated with hilarity. "Jazz!"

"No! Can ya imagine? What was th' other one, Evy? Sayn Padrick's?"

"Saint Patrick's Day. You have to wear green, or people will try and pinch you." She mimed pinching one of her arms. "And then there's a big parade, and everyone gets drunk… just for the hell of it, I guess."

Jazz's laughter redoubled.

"Stop encouraging him," growled Ratchet.

"Easter!" cried Evelyn gleefully, nearly choking on her own giggles. "A giant rabbit – a furry animal with long ears and big feet – hops around leaving candy in baskets, and people dye eggs bright colors and then hide them and make kids hunt for them!"

"Evelyn!"

"And best of all, Christmas!" With difficulty, she managed to choke out an explanation, her eyes watering from laughter. "People cut down trees –big, green, organic growths– and put them in their houses… and decorate them with lights and ornaments. A fat man in a red and white suit loads up a sleigh with toys and harnesses eight reindeer… big, horned animals… named Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner, and Blitzen… and they fly around the world, and the man enters houses through heating vents, leaving toys beneath the trees. And sometimes there's a ninth reindeer named Rudolph, but he only goes out when it's really cloudy so that he can light the way, 'cause his nose glows!"

"That doesn't make any sense!" spat Ratchet, raising his voice to be heard over Jazz's guffaws.

"That's what makes it great!" retorted Evelyn, wiping her eyes, cheeks aching from the too-broad smile stretched across her face. "And I haven't even said anything about Valentine's Day or Hanukah or Fourth of July… and those are just common where _I _live. There are tons more all around Earth. I'm sure you could find something even stranger than Christmas if you tried."

"Pardon me if my curiosity is lacking," replied the medic flatly. His optics narrowed. "Now, are you going to come out of there voluntarily, or will I have to come in and get you myself?"

A non-audible thrum traveled through Sunstreaker's body and into Evelyn's chest where she leaned back against his thigh. Evelyn's mood flip-flopped from giddy to irritated in record time.

"Ratchet, I told you. I'll come out if Sunstreaker does too. It's not that big a favor to ask! It's not like I'm going to run in here and rescue him every time he gets in trouble." She paused, then craned her neck back and around to frown up at the warrior. "I'm _not_, you know."

Sunstreaker looked away and did not reply except for a low growl of his systems.

She looked back at the medic. "So?"

"Well, first of all, _I'm _not the one he assaulted." Ratchet glanced pointedly at Jazz. "And Prowl is the one who handled disciplinary measures. I don't know why you're asking me."

_Oh. That makes sense. _She considered Jazz's amused expression for a long moment.

"Jazz," she said. "Please?"

The saboteur grinned. "I'll talk t' Prowl."

Evelyn blinked at the swift reply, then laughed. "Have I ever told you just how cool you are, Jazz?"

"Once or twice."

Ratchet snorted and stalked out of the room.

* * *

"I am _not _trying to be difficult!"

"How would you describe it?" Ratchet glared down at her. "What has prompted this sudden, overwhelming concern for Sunstreaker?"

"Call it a revelation. And stop trying to change the subject!" Evelyn folded her arms across her chest and huffed. The 'bay was empty except for a pile of miscellaneous parts that the medic was sorting through, trying to find those that would be suitable for use in Sideswipe's shell. She stood one table removed from Ratchet's workspace to reduce the chance of 'accidents.' "I'd like to spend as much time with Sunstreaker as possible. That's all. It keeps Sunstreaker calm, keeps repairs out of your 'bay, gives the officers less to worry about, shuts Sideswipe up for a while, and gives me something to do. How is any of that a bad thing?"

"And the fact that I'm not sure I trust him handling a very _small, _very _frail _organic should a stressful situation arise counts for nothing, I'm sure."

"Since you had no problem assigning him to my 'socialization' schedule in the first place, I can only assume you've changed your mind because of the tiff with Jazz. In which case, that's not a valid argument."

"Oh, really?"

"No, it's not. I wasn't with him. He's said it himself: Sideswipe is all that matters. If it came down to a brawl or Sideswipe's safety, it would be Sideswipe every time."

"Pardon my skepticism."

"Well, what do you want, then?" She frowned up at the medic, noting the too-pale optics and the constant too-loud hum of his systems. "Ratchet, you can't worry over every little thing like this. It's not healthy. You're under enough stress as it is."

"I was unaware that you had trained as a Cybertronian medic on your planet."

"Don't you snark at me, mister," she retorted. "You should listen to me. Get some R&R."

The medic's expression grew more bemused than irritated. "Arr an' arr?"

"Rest and Relaxation," she said. "Comes very highly recommended by human medics as a remedy for stress. You should try it."

"You're starting to sound like Wheeljack," he grumbled, turning back to the pile of parts to sift through the mess.

"'Jack's a smart mech. Look, if it will make you feel better, I'll stick around Sunstreaker so long as there's someone else nearby. Happy? Two chaperones for the price of one."

The medic mulled over that.

"No minibots," he said at last. "Someone who has a chance of holding their own against him if he loses his temper… at least until help can arrive."

"… narrowing it down to Jazz or Optimus," replied Evelyn dryly. "Nice, Ratchet. Has anyone ever told you that you're a fatalist?"

"Not to my face." The medic gathered up several parts into a smaller container and turned toward the back room that currently held the remnants of Sideswipe's shell.

Evelyn hesitated only a moment before hurrying to follow Ratchet along the tabletop. "Excuse me! Could I get a lift?"

The medic spared her only a brief, irritated glance before allowing her to scramble atop his hand. "Are you sure? I thought you didn't want to see."

"I'm… curious. Plus Sideswipe is asleep. It bothers him more than me, I think."

"If you say so." He remained still long enough to raise her to his shoulder and allow her time to get settled before striding toward the back room once more. "There hasn't been much work done."

The sight of the battered, burned, broken pieces atop the berth still shook her more than she would like to admit. Ratchet set the parts bin down near the shell's feet and began to take out each piece and then move it to certain places about the shell, sometimes comparing it to older, obviously damaged pieces of the same shape. Her perch atop his shoulder allowed her a perfect view of severed wires and dented metal, scorch marks, scraped paint, dried stains… all coming together in a macabre collage that she did not doubt would be making an appearance in her nightmares later on.

"I can't believe that you can fix this," she breathed. "What did he do, jump into a trash compactor?"

The medic growled softly. "Assuming he regains access to his unconverted memory banks when we return his spark to his shell, I intend on asking him about that myself."

* * *

"Shampoo and conditioner – not in the same bottle. Two separate things." She waggled two fingers up at the black and white mech to emphasize her point. "Soap or bodywash. Towels. Clothes… I'm not even going to try and explain human clothing sizes to you, so try and estimate, huh? You guys are good at that."

"Evy, I think yer overestimatin' th' size o' th' shuttle's storage bay," said the saboteur wryly.

"And food," said Evelyn. "Chocolate, please and thank you and don't-come-back-without-it. Any kind of refrigerated meal. 'Jack should be able to heat that up without trouble, right? Ibuprofen, _please." _She rubbed her temples. "Deodorant. Toothpaste. Toothbrush. Do you think you could find a mattress? Nevermind."

To Evelyn's surprise, Sunstreaker had sat docilely through her chatting session with Jazz. Well, perhaps 'docile' was the wrong word. He had not spoken so much as a word to Jazz, leaving the conversation to Evelyn, and his usual glare was firmly in place, directed at anyone who so much as glanced toward their table, but it was a step up from being confined to his quarters until it was time to go back and be confined to the 'bay.

It had been four days since her 'rescue' mission to the brig. Overall, Sunstreaker was the same as ever: grouchy, suspicious, vain, and violent; but he had taken his increased human-sitting duties with a surprising amount of grace – meaning that no one was maimed or even threatened direly when they explained his new position as Evelyn's chosen chaperone. Sideswipe, needless to say, was thrilled, and he had even gone so far as to agree to allow Evelyn her conversations with their other friends if she would allow him equal time with his brother.

_Mid-October, _she mused. _Well, probably November by now. Man, I'd kill for one of mom's green bean casseroles. Or dad's potato salad._

'_Whatsit?'_

_Food. Good food. Kind of slimy, though. You probably wouldn't like it._

She thought of the nutrient cubes awaiting her back in the medbay and resisted the urge to cry.

"Evy?"

Jazz and Sunstreaker were both watching her. Evelyn straightened her shoulders and brushed a hand back through her too long hair.

"Nothing," she sighed. "Just remembering why I can't wait to go home. How long do you think you'll be gone, Jazz?"

"In Earth time? Probably jus' a few days. No more than a week, sure."

"I will most definitely be looking forward to seeing you again, along with whatever you manage to scrounge up for me. You're a saint."

The mech snickered. "I doubt th' doc would see it that way."

"Chocolate, Jazz. Lots and lots of chocolate."

**

* * *

End Chapter Thirty-One**


	33. News

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Okay, explanations.

This is the shortest chapter to date, excluding the prologue. (Don't say I didn't warn you.) Why? Because it's a tiny bit of plot that needed clearing up, and I didn't have enough scenes to tie in with this particular bit to stretch it to my usual 3k+ word-count.

As for the delay in updates, it stems from several things. Real Life, which I won't go in to, is one. Another is that the rest of the story is, for the most part, already written, _but _I'm missing several key bits to tie the whole patchwork thing together. For example, the next chapter is 90-percent done, save for a scene near the end to tie everything together which I've been having difficulty orchestrating. I'll give it my best shot over the next few days, so we'll see how it all goes.

Also, I've done a multi-chapter dump over in the side-story Spare Parts, so be sure to check that out as well.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Two

* * *

**

_There was a point to this story, but it has temporarily escaped the chronicler's mind._**  
-Douglas Adams, ****So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish

* * *

**

With Metellus' arrival at Earth (or near to Earth, really, since Ratchet had told Evelyn that the mechs were using the moon's bulk as a handy shield against Earth's many satellites and sensors) there came a development that made day-to-day life aboard the ship a tad more interesting.

TV.

To say that Evelyn had been surprised to enter the rec room on the day after Jazz's departure to find one of the huge walls dominated by multitudes of colorful, moving images would have been a grand understatement. When she realized that the various images were actually a huge grid of countless Earth television channels, it would have been more accurate to say she was floored.

"Is that CNN?" she demanded, incredulous.

'_Cartoon Network!' _crowed Sideswipe. _'Yes!'_

"You've got an awfully big information network, Evy," said Hound, seated with Trailbreaker near the display. "Can't make helm or aft of most of it, but still. Come on and have a seat, Sunstreaker."

The warrior hesitated only briefly; Evelyn was aware of it because she could feel the faint hitch in his movement, but he growled to himself and stalked toward the proffered chair. There were quite a few mechs watching the immense collection of television channels: Brawn, Inferno, Cliffjumper, Huffer, and Windcharger to name some.

Evelyn's eyes darted over the display. Yes, there was CNN and Cartoon Network (trust Sideswipe to pick that out of eighty or more channels), and there was ESPN and Fox, and in that corner she could see the distinctive over-bright, eye-catching insanity that could only be a Japanese game show, and there, there, and there were various soap-operas, at least one in Spanish, plus the Martha Stewart show, I Love Lucy, the Simpsons, the Golden Girls, and three separate channels of Gilligan's Island… and there…

She gasped. "Metellus _Cursor, _you turn that off _right now!" _She pointed to the offending channel and directed her gaze back toward the door, specifically the key panel, for lack of a better place to focus. "I mean it! _Now."_

A moment of bemused silence on the part of the mechs, then Hound ventured, "Somethin' wrong, Evy?"

A glance at the screen showed that the offending material had been replaced with some kind of nature documentary, and she relaxed.

"Hound, just because it's everywhere in our 'global information network' doesn't mean that humans like having their… mating rituals… put on display." She suppressed a shudder. "Look, rule of thumb: the more skin you can see, the less likely you need to be watching it. Okay?"

"… that doesn't make any sense," murmured Bumblebee.

'_Oh, Primus, he has _no _idea.'_

Evelyn gave a short, unamused laugh. "Another rule of thumb: humans rarely make sense. Now will someone tell me why you're all trying to melt your processors with daytime television?"

"Jazz said it would be a good way to learn about your culture," said Hound.

Sunstreaker set Evelyn down atop the table and seated himself – pointedly setting his back toward the wall and his front toward the exit, one of his many immutable habits.

"That's… not really true," said Evelyn. She settled into a seated position, propping her shoulders against an empty energon cube. "I mean, it'll teach you that we're a bunch of greedy, hormone-driven, warmongering psychopaths, but I'd like to think there's more to us than that."

Her mouth and throat tingled, and Sideswipe offered, _"Don't bet on it," _before retreating to the back of her mind.

_Ass._

"I thought humans hadn't managed interstellar travel yet," said Windcharger, squinting intently at one section of the display. "What's that supposed to be?"

Evelyn followed his gaze. 'That' was a Star Trek: The Next Generation rerun.

_Great. How do you explain Hollywood to alien robots?_

It was surprisingly more difficult than she would ever have thought, and it turned into an ongoing project that spanned the next four days with ease.

No, the _Enterprise _was not real. Yes, humans had managed to reach the moon. No, humanity had not colonized any other planets. Yes, humans knew that those shows were not real. No, there were no known alien contacts with Earth as far as the common public knew – there were always suspicions, and there was, of course, her own current situation, so who knew just how true the Area 51 rumors were?

No, Knight Rider was not real.

Things got a bit murkier when it came to news channels and, ironically enough, reality TV.

"Look, just because so-and-so says that something is true doesn't mean that it's fully true, I mean… there's points of view, and everyone's got their own agenda, so this channel over here wants you to think someone is a greasy piece of lying sludge, but that channel over there wants you to think that he's really just an average Joe who's down on his luck – You've got to read between the lines. And for the _last time, _no, humans on average do _not _eat cockroaches, no matter _how _much money is on the line!"

As if that was not bad enough, the mechs seemed to show the most interest in watching things like the Sci-Fi channel and Star Wars. They seemed unable to process the fact that humans would put so much effort into creating, from scratch, such detailed broadcasts of things that were not and had never been real. It took the better part of three hours to convince them that no, the Force did not exist, and yes, humans had yet to create a working lightsaber, and please, _please,_ don't get 'Jack started on trying to change that fact, okay?

(She was then informed that Cybertronians already commonly used such energy weapons, and that the only danger would be if the inventor took to trying to scale them down for human use. Evelyn vowed to make herself scarce should Wheeljack mention needing to test such a thing.)

* * *

"Evelyn, what's your designation?"

"… is this a trick question?"

Ratchet fixed her with a strange look, part irritation, part weariness, and part 'intensely-curious-mech-trying-to-examine-the-human-without-appearing-as-though-he-is-doing-so.' After a moment, he replied, "Your _full _designation. Prowl wants to know."

"Evelyn Meredith Hughes."

'_Yeesh. Mouthful.'_

_Shut it, you._

A silent moment. The medic's optics flickered.

"Spell it."

She did so, frowning. She had been in the middle of attempting to braid the ridiculous tangle that was her hair, but she dropped it as a lost cause, combing her fingers through it to straighten it back out.

"Phone number?"

She gave it to him, adding, "Not that it'll do you any good. I haven't paid the bill in a year or so…"

"Your address?"

"Look, Ratchet, I've got enough problems without you guys trying to steal my identity."

"Address, Evelyn," repeated the medic, his tone clearly stating that she would not be getting any answers unless he got his answers first. There was a faint tension to his frame, setting the hair along her arms prickling with unease.

She gave him her address.

And her parents' names.

And her birth-date.

And her social security number.

"Do you want my blood type, too?" she demanded. "Maybe my bank account number? My PIN? I don't know my Mastercard number off the top of my head, but if you give me a minute, I can go dig it out of my purse!"

"Calm down," huffed the medic. "Prowl's researching something."

"Little late to be doing a background check, isn't it?" she snipped. "C'mon, Ratchet, spill."

"Evelyn, it's _nothing."_

"You're lying."

Pause.

'_Ooooh, bad move.'_

Ratchet fixed her with a very pale, very unimpressed glare. Evelyn gulped.

"Well, you _are," _she said at last. "You never tell me anything about what's happening."

"I do not _lie."_

"It's a lie by omission."

"It was for y–"

Something inside Evelyn went _snap._

"Ratchet, my hand to _God,_ if you use the phrase 'for your own good' with me one more time, I'm going to tell Sunstreaker that you're rebuilding Sideswipe as a minibot because you don't want to waste parts." At his incredulous expression, she added, "Try me. I dare you."

A ringing silence settled through the 'bay.

Evelyn's first instinct was to assume the 'tornado position': kneeling face-down, forehead on the floor, with her hands sheltering her head and her neck from possible damage. Her second was to make a break for the door – but she was atop one of the main 'bay tables, without a ladder in sight. Her third was to call for Jazz, but he had been down on Earth's surface for the past four day-cycles.

She was just contemplating whether or not Sunstreaker would be willing to step in to save Sideswipe's current host from bodily harm when Ratchet… sighed.

"Ignoring the fact that it is _impossible, _though tempting, to rebuild the little fragger as a more manageable model, I would appreciate it if I am not forced to endure that yellow psychotic any more than absolutely necessary. Also, it would be difficult for me to repair Sideswipe as _anything _if his brother suddenly decided I would be better suited to an existence as spare parts." The speech was delivered in a tired monotone, quite unlike Ratchet's usual acerbic diatribes.

… _was that a threat? _

_I was expecting a threat._

'_I think you broke him.'_

_Did not!_

'_Wait 'til Wheeljack finds out. He's going to blow sparks.'_

_Shut up!_

"Ratchet, are you okay?"

The medic ignored the question. "Jazz has found media reports relating to an Evelyn Hughes. Prowl wanted to ascertain how far-reaching the news of your disappearance has been. For a planet apparently filled with sociopathic, egocentric creatures, there seems to have been… quite a stir."

"… oh."

"Indeed."

A moment passed in near-silence, broken only by the perpetual hum of the mech's systems.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," Evelyn ventured quietly, "but… exactly what kind of stir are we talking about?"

* * *

_The town of Mason City is astir tonight with the disappearance of one Evelyn Hughes, professor of linguistics at the local college. Hughes vanished more than a week ago, leaving no trace as to her whereabouts. Local police are baffled._

"_She wouldn't just disappear. Evy's too responsible. She'd never leave like this, not when it'd upset her family like this. And I'm her friend! She'd have told me if somethin' was wrong!"_

_According to reports prior to Hughes' disappearance, Hughes had been the victim of vandalization and, if her acquaintance Jamie Burke is to be believed, kidnapping._

"_We're not giving up! I don't care how long it takes. We're not giving up on her!"_

_According to Burke, one night after she had been out with Hughes for drinks, Hughes failed to call Burke at a pre-arranged time. For the next twenty-four hours, Hughes answered no calls, from Burke or her family members, and was nowhere to be found. Later, Hughes contacted Burke, informing her that she had been assaulted and kidnapped – by who is anyone's guess._

"_Evelyn… Evy, if you're watching this… We're going to find you. Whatever's happened, it's going to be okay. We'll… we'll…"_

_There are also reports that Hughes' car was vandalized, the engine crushed beyond repair, perhaps by some kind of heavy machinery. Police think this may be a link to the kidnapping._

"_No, we haven't given up. My girl's a fighter. She's going to come home."_

_The search is winding down in Georgia tonight. Authorities say that the Hughes case may never be solved._

"_Evelyn… where are you?"_

_In other news…

* * *

_

A lot of people carried photos in their wallets or pocketbooks. Evelyn had never been one of those people, and now she regretted it. Shoulders propped against the side of her box, she slumped with her purse in her lap, fingering her keys.

A key for her apartment. One for her office at the college. The keys to her Taurus, which she had never bothered to remove, as well as the keys to her second car, now also crushed and useless. She had more than her fair share of tiny keychain cards: library card, gym card, Ingles, Wal-Mart, Books-A-Million and Borders and Walden's _and _Barnes and Noble (because one could never have too many books), and even one for Petsmart that dated back to her days in college when she had broken down and bought a beta fish for her dorm room.

Nestled in amongst the mess was a plain silvertone key, squarish around the top, altogether unremarkable. Her initials, E.M.H., were written at the top in permanent marker.

The key to her parents' house.

'_How long are you going to sulk?'_

Evelyn's lips clamped shut so tightly that they began to tingle from lack of blood flow.

_Shut the hell up._

She could feel Sideswipe's surprise, a slight withdrawal at the back of her mind. Then:

'_Sorry.'_

_No, you're not. You'd do the whole damn thing over again. _

'_Probably.' _

_See, that's why you make me so angry sometimes. You say you're sorry, but you don't really care. You're not _sorry _unless you'd choose to do things differently. You just go through the motions so I won't try to eat any of 'Jack's new 'nutrient shake' experiment he's been pushing at us._

'_That's not true, you know. Well, about the shake-thing, yeah, I'd do pretty much anything to keep that out of our system, but… I _am _sorry.'_

_Hah._

'_I'm not sorry I brought you here. I'm not sorry we made it to Metellus. We've got backup now, and a lot of good mechs that are trying fragging hard to make sure we get out of this mess okay. I'm back with Sunny, and there's Pit-all I wouldn't do to stay with him. But…_

'_I am sorry you got hurt. And I am sorry you aren't back with your family. And I am really sorry you got mixed in with our war, because there's too many whose lives have already been ruined by it without us recruiting more. I _am _sorry.'_

Evelyn sighed. She dropped her keys back within her purse and set it to one side.

_I believe you, _she thought. _I just don't know if I forgive you.

* * *

_

**End Chapter Thirty-Two**


	34. Chocolate

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** We're getting there, people. XD Slowly, slowly onward. (I'm assuming those _thunks _I heard were people passing out from sheer shock at another update?)

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Three

* * *

**

_**Buffy**__: There's no problem that cannot be solved by chocolate.  
__**Willow**__: I think I'm gonna' barf.  
__**Buffy**__: Except that.  
_**-****Buffy The Vampire Slayer

* * *

**

She woke slowly, lazily, thoughts meandering to and fro within a twilight of half-sleep like a small bubble drifting upwards through deep water. A persistent buzzing encroached upon the edge of her awareness, growing louder, but there was that instinctive knowledge that the soft, muzzy world of sleep that cradled her was more welcome and welcoming than the harsh lines of reality, so she pressed deeper into the warmth around her and attempted to sink back into the depths of sleep once more.

The buzzing grew louder. Faint pressure upon her back that she had been unaware of grew suddenly heavier, nudging from side to side. The buzzing developed consonants and vowels, as though it were evolving even as she heard it.

"…_vlun… ehv… lun…"_

The nudging paused for a brief moment, as did the buzzing. She sighed and curled tighter within her nest of warmth.

The pressure returned with a vengeance, jostling her roughly and rolling her completely onto her back. Warmth disappeared in a rush, replaced with cool air and ice-cold _something _beneath her bare right arm, jolting her to full awareness with a rush of adrenaline that set her entire body tingling, heart racing in her chest.

The buzzing resolved itself into a too-familiar voice. "Evelyn!"

Gray walls. Gray ceiling. Supernova-bright light. White and red giant-alien-robot-medic.

_Oh, _she thought dazedly. _It wasn't a dream._

"… th' _hell_, Ratchet?" she slurred, entire body shivering.

Her scarred arm lay upon bare metal at the bottom of 'her' box where the towels had been bunched and wrinkled and pushed out of the way. The bunched, wrinkled fabric in question currently lay beneath her lower back like some strange torture device designed specifically to misalign human vertebrae. With a surge of discomfort-fueled determination, she rolled back onto her side, groping after a loose fold of towel to cover herself with.

Ratchet towered over her, one mech-sized towel dangling from his hand.

"You're malfunctioning again," he stated, optics narrowed. "I need to take you to the lab."

Evelyn blinked. She swiped one hand across her nose, examining it for traces of red: nothing. Her head throbbed, but that was nothing new, and Sideswipe's nonsensical sleep-talk at the back of her mind reassured her that there was nothing new on _that _front.

"What're you talkin' about?" Her voice quavered with the force of her shivering. "The only thing wrong with me is that I'm freezin', I'm tired, and I just had my spine adjusted by some paranoid mech on wake-up duty. Can I have my blanket back now?"

The medic's optics paled, glancing between the towel and the hand she held out toward him.

"I am not paranoid. Your sleep cycle should have ended over a joor ago. I've noticed them growing longer, but this is an unacceptable extreme. I need to run some tests."

"No. You don't. Hand over the blanket. Now."

"Evelyn, this is not negotiable. There could be a dangerous glitch—"

"_Ratchet." _Tired or not, it was all-too-easy to level a scorching glare at the giant mech. "I'm not negotiating. As the owner of this body, I can tell you with some certainty that I am _not _at death's door, nor will I be at death's door at any time in the near future barring _leaping off of a table _because I can't _get any sleep._ So if you think you can sweep me up and drag me god-only-knows-where after you've tossed me out of a nice, relaxing snooze, then you've got some really important wires crossed. Now _give me back my blanket."_

The world disappeared with a very loud _FWOOMP._

Evelyn thrashed against the enfolding mass of the giant towel, fighting her way out from under its weight just in time to see the red and white mech storm out of the room, systems snarling loudly enough to set the medbay echoing.

"Hmph."

Battle won, Evelyn straightened her bed and snuggled back down into sleep.

* * *

She emerged into the 'bay an undetermined amount of time later, rubbing at her eyes and wishing desperately for some ibuprofen, especially when the door opened just in time for her to catch the tail end of a Ratchet Rant.

"—_doesn't even acknowledge the possible danger! She's impossible!"_

At the back of her mind, Sideswipe snerked. Loudly.

"Primus, doc, go easy there," came the easy, drawled reply. "She musta' done somethin' impressive to get under your platin' like that. Oh, heya, Evy."

Jazz grinned down at her from where he stood near the main 'bay door. Ratchet turned from facing the black and white mech and glared.

"Hey, Jazz," she greeted absently, swallowing a yawn as she combed tangled locks of lank hair back out of her face.

"Aw, is that any way t' greet your most favorite errand-mech in th' whole, wide universe?" The trademark Jazz grin seemed to stretch to epic proportions.

She faltered, frowning.

"Huh?"

Something went _click_ at the back of her mind. Even Sideswipe's newly-awakened presence seemed to perk up. _Oh. _

Jazz's grin widened. With a dramatic flourish, he bowed down and extended his hand toward her.

"If th' lady would just step this way…"

Her head and stomach both protested as she was raised to the top of one of the medbay tables, but the sight that met her eyes more than made up for the discomfort.

The table was piled high with packages of every shape and color, not unlike something that might be found beneath one's Christmas tree – if one's Christmas presents were commonly left unwrapped and had all been purchased from the local Dollar General.

"Jazz, where did you get all this?" she breathed incredulously.

'_This is great!'_ crowed Sideswipe. _'Look at all this stuff! Hey, is that that sweet brown stuff that you like? Can we some of that?'_

_Forget the chocolate – I see soap!_

"Jazz… I think I love you."

Ratchet eyed the pile of offerings with the expression of a mother whose child has just received an ungodly amount of Halloween candy from a dubious source. He prodded at one of the packages, the cellophane crinkling loudly in the near silence of the 'bay.

"Evelyn, this could severely jar your fuel-processing systems. It has little or no nutritional value. In fact, it seems to contain unhealthy amounts of—"

"Oh, _please." _Evelyn was too thrilled with the bounty before her to pay much attention to the medic's griping. "It's food, not Clorox. It's not going to—Ratchet. _Ratchet. _Get your hands away from the chocolate _right now."_

"Evelyn, it's for y–"

"Ratchet!" Evelyn leveled the medic with the darkest glare she could muster. _"Don't. Say. It."_

The medic's optics narrowed to brilliant white slits, and he dropped the package of Reese's cups atop the table, his systems growling viciously.

"Fine," he said. "Give yourself a backlogged tank if you want to. Just don't come crying to me."

With that he stalked off for his office without so much as a backwards glance.

Jazz was looking at her oddly. She blinked up at the black and white mech.

"What?"

"Gettin' a li'l testy with the doc, aren't ya?"

Evelyn's conscience prickled faintly, and she glanced at the closed door of the medic's office. _Aw, hell._

'_It's for your own good,' _said Sideswipe, his tone faintly sing-song.

And just like that, the irritation was back.

"Rule the first of Earth, Jazz. Don't get between a woman and her chocolate." Glowering, she sorted quickly through the pile – food, hygiene products, clothing (including a double-D bra, which she dearly prayed was some sort of joke), and miscellanea. She hesitated over several of the items, unable to comprehend just what the mech had been thinking during his shopping/thieving/scavenging spree.

"Jazz, really… a Chia Pet? Not that I have anything against Scooby-Doo…"

"I was curious."

"Uh-huh."

Scooby went into the miscellanea pile.

Quickly gathering up the most valuable items, namely various soaps, brushes, razors, and _clean underwear, thank you, dear god, thank you, _she begged Jazz for a lift back to her room and her modest shower facilities for a truly delicious round of long-needed self-pampering.

* * *

_Oh, I feel human again! _

Her hair lay in a sopping mass down her back, but it was an _untangled _sopping mass, thanks to that miracle elixir known as conditioner, and she luxuriated in the feel of her brand-new hairbrush combing through the wet strands, laying them out in perfect little rows until she used one of her brand-new towels to wring out excess water before resuming combing once again.

'… _implying that you haven't been human for the past however-many orns?'_

_Say what you want, Sideswipe. You cannot _possibly _ruin this for me. _

'_Oh, I'm sure I could think of something.' _The sentence held untold depths of mischief.

She paused mid-brushstroke. Her eyes narrowed.

_What was that?_

'_Er… not that I ever _would, _of course. That'd just be petty, yeah?'_

_That's what I thought._

Her stomach chose that moment to grumble faintly. Usually, this meant that it was time to meander rather unenthusiastically over to the day's rations of edible foam-blocks, but today it reminded her of the small mountain of brightly-colored plastic packages littering one of the medbay tables. She could hear the siren call from here, and it was singing, _Hershey's… Hershey's…_

Jazz had shown quite a bit of sense in choosing clothing for her (barring that horribly oversized bra, which now lay ostracized atop her 'to throw away' pile, despite Sideswipe's half-formulated plans for rigging up some sort of slingshot device). She had four different sizes of underwear to choose from, as well as four sizeable t-shirts that she could use either as clothing or impromptu tents. A couple tank-tops were a bit too small but would do for sleeping in. There was also a pair of bicycle shorts, chosen apparently for their elasticity, and a skirt that, while two sizes too big and a hideous, mottled shade of brown-orange, had a tie waist and was therefore usable. None of the bras fit, but she gave Jazz points for effort; hell, _human _males were clueless when it came to lingerie, never mind giant alien robot males…

But without contest, one item topped the list as her favorite: a full-length terrycloth bathrobe, dyed deep blue.

_I take back everything bad I ever thought about Jazz, _she thought, belting it around her waist and reveling in the soft, soft cloth.

'_Can we get some of that brown stuff now?'_

_Yes, indeed. _She grinned, feeling rejuvenated, and made her way towards the ladder. _In fact, I think this calls for a celebration.

* * *

_

Contrary to whatever Ratchet believed, Evelyn did have a fair share of that valuable thing known as 'common sense.' At the back of her mind, the knowledge that cramming handfuls of chocolate, peanut-butter, sugar, and other unhealthy things into a stomach that had spend the last year eating what was essentially nutrient-rich mattress foam was Not A Good Idea.

That didn't stop her from nibbling and sampling and otherwise reveling in the sinfully delicious treats that had been showered upon her.

Gathered around her in their usual seats, Bluestreak, Jazz, Sunstreaker, and Hound watched her with curiosity (Bluestreak), amusement (Jazz), disgust (Sunstreaker), and befuddlement (Hound). The wall of the rec room still displayed the immense mosaic of various television channels, but apparently, watching a human eat was far more engaging.

_Go figure._

"Is this was humans normally eat? It doesn't look very… appetizing," said Bluestreak. "Brown's such an odd color – is it healthy?"

Evelyn swallowed her mouthful of Reese's cup, ran her tongue over her teeth to clean away any remaining chocolate, and replied, "Yes and no. This is what you'd call 'junk food.' It's not good for you, but it's just _so _good that we really don't care."

Bluestreak's expression turned a little concerned. "If it's not good for you, then… I mean, did Ratchet say this was okay?"

"Nope," chirped Evelyn, chuckling. She pushed the bag of candy away, though. "It's okay, Bluestreak. I'll ration it. No more chocolate until my next online period, okay?"

Sideswipe let out a whine that nearly rattled her brain. _'C'mon, Evelyn! Just a few more pieces?'_

_No. Enough is enough. _Her stomach was already feeling a little overfull, considering both the chocolate and the granola bars she had consumed for breakfast/lunch.

'_Please? Just one more piece? We haven't had one of the Snickers bars. Those are my favorite!'_

_Urg. No, Sideswipe. You can wait until tomorrow._

'_Hey, you ate whole handfuls of those Reese's cups! How come I don't get to pick something? Do I have to give you the "sharing the shell" lecture again?'_

_Don't even _think _about it, you psychotic little parasite, _thought Evelyn with new vehemence. _Just because you hijacked my body does not give you owner's privileges._

'… _pretty, pretty please?'_

_No. _

'_Pleeease?'_

_Negative._

'_Pleeeeeease?'_

_Not gonna happen, Sideswipe._

'_I'll be quiet for a whole joor!'_

_I said _n–_ wait… what? Seriously?_

'_A whole six hours. Not a peep, I swear. Autobot's honor.' _She could _hear _him smirking.

_Hmm…_

'_Just one little bitty, teensy _weensy _sweet?'_

_Okay. Fine. One candy bar, and you don't say a thing for the next six hours… while I go for a soak in the washracks._

'_What?! You just got finished washing yourself!'_

Evelyn allowed herself a smirk of her own. _True, but one of the things Jazz brought back just so happens to be a snorkel and a pair of goggles, and all of a sudden, I have this inexplicable urge to give them a test run._

'_But–'_

_Ah-ah! Six hours of silence and a swimming trip, or no deal._

It had never occurred to her before to use food as an enticement to get cooperation from Sideswipe. Now that she thought about it, though, just as the Cybertronian had a deep loathing of anything squishy or slimy, he also had an obsession with all things sweet, crunchy, or fizzy. Carbonated beverages were a real treat for him – he said that it was about as close as he could get to the sensation of drinking energon while in her body.

'… _fine. It's a deal.'_

Evelyn grinned, reaching into the pile of various objects and treats she had asked Jazz to carry for her, and dragged out a Snickers bar. Her grin fell, though, as she removed the wrapping.

More chocolate… was not appealing.

But six hours of silence (and the knowledge that Sideswipe was silently suffering while she explored the depths of the wash pool with her new toy) was entirely too tempting.

She snorted.

_You want it? You eat it, _she said, and Sideswipe snatched control of her body away.

She could feel as her mouth pulled into a manic grin as her fingers tore back the wrapper. Her cheeks bulged as she took a massive bite of the bar and munched away.

Within her mind, Evelyn grimaced. _A _little _dignity, if you please!_

'_Dignity wasn't part of the deal!' _singsonged the voice, taking another massive bite.

"Evelyn?"

Her four table-mates were all staring down at her, expressions ranging from suspicious to bemused.

"Evelyn?" said Jazz again. "I thought y' were gonna ration that."

Sideswipe swallowed another bite. The bar was over half gone by now. _"Evelyn's not here right now," _he said in that hoarse parody of her voice. _"Leave a message and she'll get back to you later."_

Another bite.

Sunstreaker sneered. "You're getting organic filth all over yourself."

"_Dnmt krrr."_

"What?"

Another gulp. _"I said, 'Don't care!'"_

Mercifully, with Sideswipe's eagerness, the bar was gone within moments. Not-so-mercifully, she realized within a few moments that it was not going to stay gone.

"Um, Evelyn… you're changing colors. Is that bad?"

She barely heard Bluestreak's tentative query, all-too-aware of the sudden flood of saliva in her mouth and the undeniable urge to swallow against the ache at the back of her throat.

'_Um… what's happening?' _

She barely had time to think the words _oh, hell _before she struggled to her feet, clapping one hand across her mouth, staggered over to an empty energon cube, and threw up.

Pandemonium ensued.

There was shouting – mostly Bluestreak, and mostly words like 'glitch,' 'virus,' deactivation,' and 'Ratchet!' Barely had she finished spitting out the last of the bile that someone scooped her up from the table without regards for her aching stomach. Initially she suspected Jazz, but the golden hands beneath her betrayed Sunstreaker.

_I. Hate. You._

'… _that was disgusting…' _whimpered the voice. _'Why didn't you warn me?'_

_What part of 'enough is enough' didn't compute for you?_

'_You could have said no!'_

_I DID._

Corridors passed in a blur, light and black and gray, the air filled with the booming of the mech's footsteps. Evelyn lay limply against the metal fingers, swallowing determinedly against her rebellious stomach.

They arrived at the medbay in moments. Abruptly, she was looking up at a white helm and red chevron that she had become entirely too familiar with over the course of her stay. Blue optics narrowed, the glow within them paling.

"Let me guess," growled the medic. "Backlogged tank?"

* * *

For lack of any other medical solution on hand, Ratchet prescribed bed rest.

Or rather, 'box rest.'

Evelyn lay curled within her towel nest, immensely grateful for the toothpaste and toothbrush included within her supplies. Several hours had passed, and though her stomach bothered her less and less, her conscience was pricking her more and more. The next time Ratchet entered her room to check up on her, she sat up, faced him, and met his gaze.

"Ratchet… I'm sorry for snapping at you."

The medic said nothing, eyeing her with no discernable expression upon his face, systems revving quietly.

"About before," she said. "I'm sorry. You had my best interests at heart… spark… whatever." She waved one hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter. You're a good mech, even if you've got enough _for-your-own-good _coming out your exhaust vents to kill a cow… Gah." She pinched her nose. "Anyway. What I'm trying to say is, _I am sorry. _Friends?"

"… That sounded positively painful."

"Yeah. Foot-in-mouth usually is."

There was a moment of almost-comfortable silence.

Abruptly, the medic asked, voice softer than usual, "Is Sideswipe awake?"

Evelyn snorted. "No. I think he didn't want to risk being awake in case of another 'tank purge,' the coward. Why?"

"I wanted to inform him… We'll have the repairs to his shell done within the next two joors. We should be able to attempt a transfer during your next online period."

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty-Three**


	35. Transfer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** _Don't get spoiled. _These frequent updates are only so frequent because they were ninety-percent done already. XD I have not even _started _writing the next chapter, so _**CONSIDER YOURSELVES WARNED!**_

(Also, for my own curiosity, does anyone actually read these notes?)

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Four

* * *

**

_The fragment of memory lost in the gap between life and death.  
_**–Trigun

* * *

**

'_I guess… this is it.'_

Evelyn wondered if her eyes were going to be fixed in a permanent squint after suffering so long from headaches and migraines and everything else that went with being stranded on a giant alien ship. Her heart ran at double- and triple-time as Ratchet neared the medical berth that held the silent, still shell of a broad-chested mech, red and black and white, optics dull and dark.

_I guess so, _she replied. It was hard to comprehend the fact that the obnoxious, immature presence that had been haunting her for oh-so-long actually belonged within that metal behemoth. Sideswipe seemed more like one of her livelier students from the college than some giant, intergalactic soldier.

"So…" she said, throat dry, voice quiet and raspy, "what happens now?"

The medic's systems gave an odd chuttering noise, prompting Evelyn to look back and up at the silver face.

"Ratchet?" she asked.

Sounding displeased, the red and white mech growled, "I am not quite sure."

'_What?'_

"What?"

"This is not exactly a commonly documented occurrence, you know," replied Ratchet. "If Wheeljack's and my theories are correct, Sideswipe's spark will gravitate to the spark chamber. Sparks form a bond with the casing; it's what makes repairing casings so tricky and complete replacements impossible, but aside from the original crack, Sideswipe's was largely intact and should still resonate with the spark."

"… you don't sound very convinced," said Evelyn, little tickles of horror beginning to make themselves known at the edges of her mind at the thought of a lifetime of Sideswipe. _I'm doomed. _

'You're _doomed? What about _me?'

"We're flying without a sensor net," grunted the medic. "If our first theory doesn't pan out, we will simply try something else. Wheeljack, did you finish charging the periphery energy cells?"

The inventor nodded. "It's good to go. Aside from a spark, it's in perfect working condition."

Ratchet grumble-sighed. "Alright."

The medic extended his hand out over the mess of wires/tubes/tanks that was the interior of the shell's chest. The spark-chamber lay open, the front split across the middle, an upper and lower panel shifted back out of the way. The interior was smooth and gleaming, brilliantly silver.

"Nothing is active," said Ratchet. "There's no danger if you touch anything, but I don't know if my presence would affect anything. Do you think you can reach the chamber yourself?"

"Uh, sure," replied Evelyn dubiously, but she slid off the side of the medic's hand and found herself thigh-deep in a tangle of wires and tubes, the spark-chamber looming ahead of her like some strange mating between machine, beach ball, and porcupine.

_Oh, there's an interesting mental image, _she thought distractedly, trying to raise one leg high enough to get a knee on top of a sturdy-looking thingamajig so that she could maybe get a seat atop the round-shaped doohickey beside the chamber.

'_Um, Evelyn?'_

_Yes?_ The third attempt proved to be the charm as she hefted herself atop her chosen perch and looked down into the pristine depths of the spark-chamber. Her reflection stared back from upside-down, warped and distorted.

'_I just, uh… You know, I haven't always been the nicest guy to be stuck with… And you're just a little organic femme, so you shouldn't have gotten mixed up with this at all. It's a miracle you're still alive, actually…'_

_Are you _trying _to make me want you out of my head faster? _she asked with vague annoyance, trying to settle herself into a more secure position.

'_No! I'm just… trying to say… y'know… thanks. And, uh, if this doesn't work–'_

_Don't even _joke.

'–_seriously! If it doesn't work, or something goes wrong, I just want you to know that… that you're not that bad.'_

… _I'm not that bad, _she repeated, amused.

'_Yeah.' _

_Uh-huh._

'_Y'know… for a stuffy little organic.'_

_Well, you're not that bad yourself, Sideswipe. _

'_Heh.'_

_For an inconsiderate little pain-in-the-aft._

'_Thanks. So, uh, now that the mushy stuff is over…'_

She snorted to herself, aware of the two pairs of optics intent on her every move. _Back to business._

Propping her gloved hand against the doohickey, she extended her left out toward the chamber. The muscles down her neck and back tensed, her stomach flip-flopping. She remembered the original transfer, a blur of light and pain, and her heart double-timed as that memory came to the fore.

All was quiet save for the faint puffs of her breath and the humming of Ratchet's and Wheeljack's systems. Her hand reached further and further into the depths of the chamber, her back straining at the unbalanced position. Hair along her arms and scalp prickled.

Her hand closed the last inch between itself and the polished metal. Her entire body jolted, a shock racing up her arm, and she jerked away with a yelp. She scrambled to remain upright, glove sliding frictionlessly across smooth metal, and ended in a splayed half-crouch like a tree frog perched upon a particularly treacherous branch, wide-eyed, breath rasping in her throat.

'… _well, that didn't work.'_

"… static electricity," muttered Evelyn, cheeks reddening.

She sat for a moment recovering her breath, frowning down into the open core.

'_Y'know…'_ said the voice at last, _'you might be, I dunno,uh… using the wrong hand?'_

Evelyn blinked, murmuring a soft 'huh.'

"Sideswipe, you might not be a complete idiot after all."

'_Thanks. I think.'_

She grabbed the top edge of the beige medical glove and proceeded to slide/roll it down her arm. The spiderweb of scars gleamed beneath the harsh light, and she rubbed her palm over them briskly, feeling the opposing textures, rough healthy skin and slick white scars.

Perhaps it was her imagination, but her arm seemed to tingle strangely as she leaned forward once more and reached toward the spark chamber.

Then she stiffened and grimaced, because it was not her imagination. Her hand reached into the open center of the chamber, and the tingling grew to a prickling and then outright burning that made her hiss through gritted teeth. Her ears rang, the noise building to a crescendo.

_Think it's safe to say this is working, _she thought grimly, but there was no reply from Sideswipe save for a noise like garbled static, like a TV station on the fritz, wavering and growing and fading without rhyme or reason.

Bits of light danced in her vision, and she blinked rapidly to clear them, but they didn't vanish, instead growing brighter – tendrils of white rising out from her palm and twining around one another, tangling and knotting and weaving and writhing…

* * *

_Glint of gold in her hand. Familiar presence nearby, radiating tension and fightflightangerfear._

"_Just subspace it and let's get out of here."_

"_Don't be an idiot – you can't subspace it any more than you could subspace a spark."_

_Thinking quickly. Realization, then resignation. Vulnerability as her armor parted, exposing her core, and a jolt of surprise from her other self._

"_What are you doing? Are you out of your processor?"_

_Pressure within her chest where none should be, and awareness of precious weight tangled within sensitive systems. _

"_Won't get any safer than that."_

Flash.

_Impact along her side. Energy signals all around, warnings screaming in her ears, and red lettering covering her vision: systems overheating, low energy, damage, error, warning, warning, warning…_

_Crying out silently, reaching for the other's presence: _(Sunny!)

(I'm coming.) _Reassurance, promise, and deadly threat._

_Red optics, blazing bright in the darkness. A low voice, mocking. "What a clever hiding place…"_

_Hands on her arms, restraining. Systems snarling as she fought, bucking. "Get your filthy hands off o' me, you half-byte pieces of junkyard scrap! I'm gonna–"_

_Pain. Fingers digging into her skin, ripping, tearing, and harsh laughter in her ears. Agony, her chest torn open, her core exposed, and…_

(Sideswipe!)

_A satisfied sigh. "Yes, there it is…"_

_Desperation, fear, fury, fight-or-flight-or-die. A hand reaching toward her, and a surge of horror-fueled energy, and she writhed, twisted, and tore loose. Cries of surprise. Pain as things within her bent and broke with the movement._

"_Frag!"_

"_Get him! _Get him!"

_Throwing herself forward, body curling and warping in ways that were impossible as she became something different, and then seeing without eyes and running without legs, speeding off into the darkness._

Flash.

_Water all around, falling from the sky. Racing along roughsmoothslick pathways, ground rock and hardened black resin layered upon the ground. Cold moisture pounding upon exposed systems, evaporating into streamers of mist from the heat. A feeling of painhotcold at her core, warnings of spark-chamber breach._

_Sorrow. Worry. Reaching for the other, the bright presence within her mind. _(Sunny... I think I'm gonna go into stasis-lock.)

And I don't know if I'm going to wake up.

(Shut the Pit up.) _Fury, white-hot, not her own. _(I'm almost there.)

_Energy signatures behind her, far behind, but not far enough, and knowledge that they were growing steadily nearer._

Flash.

_Light ahead, far distant but nearing. A slow beat, red, green, yellow, red, repeated over and over._

Flash.

_Energy low. Core breach. Warning. Error. Error. Error._

Flash.

_Movement. Metal, a vehicle, pulling into her path. _

_Alarm._

Flash.

_Impact._

Flash.

_(Sideswipe!)_

Flash.

_Stillness. Blind. Damage reports, errors, breach, energy loss, systems overheating, pain, pain, _pain.

_Noise. Hissing: falling water, steam. Clicking: metal cooling. Rustle: movement, small, hesitant, nearby, and coming nearer._

_Sensation. Pressure upon her front, cold-but-warm. An energy signature, registering faintly: bioelectric, organic. A local._

_Other energy signatures: spark-readings. Distant, but nearing. _

_Fightorflight._

_Moving. Harsh grinding, damaged parts forced into action. Lurching backwards._

_A cry, not her own – or was it? – and pressure at her core, then…_

_Light.

* * *

_

Evelyn awoke appreciating how her brother must have felt all those long years ago when he'd stuck a butter knife in an electrical outlet. Her skin tingled, arm hair standing on end, and faint tremors crept up and down her limbs like hordes of tiny spiders. Her arm hurt, too, the scars burning faintly as they had when she had first awoken in the hospital so long ago.

And it was... quiet.

She blinked sleep out of her eyes and listened. The ringing that came of being near Cybertronians was still as loud as ever, but...

_Sideswipe?_

"Sideswipe?" Her voice sounded as awful as she had feared it might, and she heaved herself into a sitting position, shoving aside the towel that someone had laid over her. She was in her box, per usual, and she was alone.

Really alone.

Her head felt empty, echoingly empty, as though there was far more room within it now than she could ever need. Her muscles were limp, the knotted pain at the base of her skull gone. Her entire body felt… quiet.

Her heart sped up, and a tangle relief and loss and joy and grief and elation and worry formed an emotional traffic jam within her skull, which was odd, since there should have been more room than ever for things like that to sort themselves out with _him _gone, and why should she miss him anyway? Jerk. Loudmouth. Disembodied voice from _Hell. _

_... Companion. Joker._

_Protector. _

_Friend. _

She swiped her hands furiously through her hair, chasing away the staticky tingles crawling over her scalp, and let out a furious growl. She didn't even know if he was still... alive? Corporeal? Ha, maybe he'd been transfered into one of the other mechs, like a good bout of the flu that hopped from family member to family member and hung around for months beyond bearing. She stood, tugged her shirt and slacks back into place, and stalked toward the ladder, knees rubbery but granted strength through her irritated determination.

_You'd _better _be okay, moron, because I'm not going to be the one to tell Sunstreaker if you aren't!_

The door hissed aside for her without waiting for her to ask, and she froze beneath the lintel as a swathe of red caught her eye. There was a very large red and white and black mech sitting on one of the medbay tables, head tilted to one side as Ratchet tinkered with something in the black helm. A shiver crept from the top of her head down to the tips of her toes, and she more than half-stumbled out of the way of Metellus' door, staring.

The mech glanced her way curiously, but Ratchet clocked him a solid hit with his ever-handy wrench, hissing a vicious _"Sit still, Primus fraggit!"_ and blithely ignoring the mech's yelp.

"That really hurt!" whined the red mech.

"Which should give you reason to wonder how much it will hurt if you _really _make him mad," rumbled Wheeljack as he ferried parts from the table beside Ratchet to the storage bins. He offered Evelyn a hand-up as he passed, an offer readily accepted, and set her down amidst nuts and bolts and wires and tubes and other bits of mechanical whatnot that were leftover from Sideswipe's repairs. "Feeling better, Evelyn?"

There was something odd about the inventor's gaze and tone of voice as he asked, and Evelyn shrugged one shoulder, crossing her arms over her stomach.

"Been better, been worse," she said. "It all came out okay, though, I guess."

She looked toward the-mech-that-was-now-Sideswipe and found him peering back, a curious little frown upon his face, and she tilted her head, arching one eyebrow back at him. _What?_

_Probably thinking how tiny I am and all the kinds of hell he can put me through now._

_I cannot _wait _to go home,_ she thought, feeling the knife-stab of homesickness twisting in her gut, sharper than it had ever been before.

Ratchet finished up his work within the mech's helm and shut the panel, his mouth scrunched in a displeased expression. "Light duty and _only _light duty for at least three orns, maybe longer. Your body is now more welding than solid metal, so it would be in your best interest to act nothing like your psychotic of a brother and avoid _any _strenuous activity."

"Right, right, I get to be lazy," grinned the red mech. "I can deal with that."

"I somehow doubt that," grouched the medic. "Let me put it in a language you can process: if one of your limbs _falls off, _I will beat you into deactivation with it. Compute?"

"... are you _sure _you're a medic?"

A hefty and very painful looking tool was raised threateningly. "I said, c_ompute?"_

"I compute! I compute!"

Wheeljack rumbled softly as he returned to the table to gather up more parts. The medic huffed and laid the tool down, turning to face Evelyn.

"And how about you?" he asked, most of the aggravation gone from his tone, replaced by a quiet kind of weariness.

"I'm fine," she said. At his dubious look, she added, "Honestly. A little sore, a little twitchy, but fine. My headache's gone."

There was something odd about the medic's expression, too, and the hair all along her arms prickled with apprehension.

"What's with the weird look?" she demanded, but at the same time Sideswipe said...

... said...

"I remember now! You're one of those _hyoo-man_ organics! I knew I'd seen you somewhere before!"

* * *

Evelyn stared. Sideswipe grinned cheerily at her, and Ratchet's systems vented with a sigh-like sound.

"Evelyn--" the medic began, but she ignored him.

"What," she said, "did you say?"

"You _are _a _'hyoo-man' _right?" The grin melted to a charming smile. "Stuff's a little blurry from your planet, but I'm starting to synch the data. What's a little thing like you doing on an Autobot ship?"

Before Evelyn could do more than open and close her mouth wordlessly, groping for words, the 'bay doors slid open, and Sunstreaker entered.

Sideswipe's smile grew so wide that it seemed the metal of his face was in real danger of cracking, and he pushed himself off the table with an elated cry of, "Sunny!"

The yellow warrior strode over to the red mech, sent an appraising glance up and down the other's form, raised his arm, and brought his fist crashing down upon the black helm.

_"Gyah! _Sunstreaker! Primus, what is it with everyone on this ship and _hitting?"_ Sideswipe had both hands clamped over his newest dent, eyes squinted in real pain, and then Sunstreaker grabbed him by the nape of the neck and dragged him up until they were face-to-face.

("You aren't going to stop him?" muttered Wheeljack to Ratchet, but the medic merely shook his head, his own optics pale and narrowed.)

_"What_ have I told you about being _stupid?"_ snarled the yellow mech.

"... not to be?"

_"Remember it this time."_

The red mech gave an unsteady little rumble. "Aw, was the big bad Sunbeam worried?"

_Klang!_

"Ow!"

"Sunstreaker, please stop abusing your brother in my 'bay," ordered Ratchet mildly. "I only just got him back in working order."

The warrior let out a disgruntled rev but lowered his fist. Sideswipe straightened up from his half-crouch, optics still squinted in pain, but his gaze caught upon Evelyn, and he leaned closer to his brother to sort-of-but-not-really whisper, "Hey, bro, what's with the organic? It keeps staring at me."

Sunstreaker's head went up and back like that of a startled horse, and he darted a surprised glance toward Evelyn. For her part, Evelyn's stomach was churning, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides, palms sticky with sweat.

_He's joking, _she thought. _He has to be. This is a joke!_

"Sideswipe...?" She hoped that she did not sound as plaintive as she feared she did. "Tell me you're kidding."

"How do you know my name?"

Ratchet was saying something... spark-memory and unconverted memory banks and lost data, but she was focused wholly upon the red mech.

"I'm... Evelyn," she said. "Don't you remember? Mason City? Therapy with Dr. Thrump? Jamie?"

The mech shook his head, looking thoroughly confused. The churning in her stomach was morphing into a burning like a fire in her gut, and her hands were trembling.

"_Friends _marathons? Discovery channel? Miguel, the scrapyard, those... the Decepticons?"

"I don't--"

"Tomato sandwiches?" she demanded, desperate. "Squishy foods? Offbeat, Mirage, the forest, you don't remember _anything?" _Her voice was rising higher and higher until it was nearly a shriek. "You kidnapped me and stranded me here and _you're telling me you don't remember!?"_

Wheeljack and Ratchet were trying to calm her down, repeating her name over and over, and Sunstreaker was staring at her with a narrow, contemplative gaze, and Sideswipe was looking at her like he'd never seen her before in his life, eyes wide and blank like he was some sort of stupid _cow _listening to a French lecture, and her eyes were burning, her limbs trembling, and she just wanted him to–

"Get out."

"Wha–?"

"I said _get out!"_

"But I–"

_"I don't care!" _She shook her head furiously, face burning. "Get out get out _get out! Leave! Am-scray! Vamoose!"_

"What the slag–?"

With an incoherent shriek of rage, she snatched up one of the many softball-sized nuts upon the table and hurled it at the red mech. More out of luck than any skill on her part, it bounced off his chest with a satisfying _ching! _that was nearly lost in the mech's yelp of surprise.

_"GET OUT!"_

She snatched up another nut, but the second throw went wide and sent her staggering off balance, dropping her heavily on her butt, and she sat and shivered, mortified to find that she was crying.

A tense silence fell.

"What in the Pit is wrong with you?" breathed the red mech.

Abruptly, Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by the shoulder and shoved him toward the door. "Move it, fragger."

"But–"

_"Now."_

Sideswipe walked through the door, and Evelyn watched dazedly as Sunstreaker lagged behind with a knowing look on his face. Sideswipe cried out in surprise and spat out a string of Cybertronian curses as the doors clamped down upon his heel with the determination of an especially stubborn rottweiler, and only when he had pried himself loose and the doors had reopened did the yellow warrior make his own way through.

Evelyn sat upon the table, shoulders slumped, hands dangling in her lap, feeling as though someone had taken out her organs and put them back in wrong. Something touched her lightly upon the back; she did not bother to look up and see who it was.

"Evelyn...?"

"I want to go home," she whispered. "Please, please, just let me go home."

The touch upon her back rubbed gently up and down. "We will. It's alright. We'll talk to Prime, and then you're going home."

She swiped at the dampness on her cheeks and snuffled miserably.

* * *

From out in the hall...

_KLANG!_

_"Fraggit, Sunstreaker! _Ratchet said stop hitting me!"

"He also said _in his 'bay."

* * *

_

**End Chapter Thirty-Four**


	36. Beginning

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Allow me an evil chortle before we begin. (ahem) Bwahahahaha!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Five

* * *

**

_Some are born great; others have greatness thrust upon them.  
_**- Theodore "Teddy" Roosevelt

* * *

**

Ratchet had been putting her in 'time out' quite often lately, it seemed, but Evelyn was grateful for this latest respite. There had been nights when she had curled within the shelter of her little towel nest and let the self-pitying tears flow, but Sideswipe had been there during those times, and it was hard to feel sorry for oneself with a disembodied voice cheerily pointing out the thousands of ways It Could Be Worse.

Sideswipe wasn't there now, though. There was nothing to keep her from pulling herself into a little ball, burying her face in the scratchy-soft folds of cloth, and bawling herself into exhaustion. So that was exactly what she did.

She awoke hours later – how long, exactly, she did not know. Her sinuses were clogged, her eyes scratchy, and her throat aching. The skin beneath her eyes was tight and crusted with dried tears. Her entire body hurt. All in all, it was worse than that hellish bout of flu four years prior that had kept her from overseeing her classes for nearly two weeks.

A part of her wanted nothing more to lie there indefinitely, staring at the featureless gray plain that was the side of her box, but the discomfort of her position drove her first to sitting up, then to taking a small scrap of towel to her watercube to wash her face.

Her reflection stared up at her from the undulating water.

"You look terrible," she said, voice raspy. Then she laughed softly.

_I'm so used to Sideswipe that now I have to talk to myself._

The door hissed aside to admit Ratchet. The mech's optics remained a shade too pale to be normal, but the ever-present snarling of his systems had lowered quite noticeably. Once more, Evelyn could not shake the feeling that there was something strange about his expression, an odd sort of tension that she could not quite decipher.

"Hey," she said.

"Hm," replied the medic. He eyed her with that intense not-quite-squint that meant a barrage of medical scans were being aimed at her tiny organic body, so she stood still and waited, familiar with the routine. The medic's engine revved moodily after a moment.

"Optimus has convened another meeting with the ship officers. He wants to speak with you."

Evelyn rubbed her hands over her face, sighing.

"Well, I guess I need to go see Optimus, then, don't I?"

"If you're up to it."

"Then I can go home, right?" Her voice did _not _waver on the word 'home.' Not at all. "You said I could go home."

"There are some details that need to be worked out. Hence, the meeting."

"Then let's go."

* * *

Paranoia was beginning to take hold of her by the time they reached the hallway outside the meeting room. They had met several mechs along the way, and Evelyn had been treated to the sight of multiple Cybertronian double-takes – a sideways glance, a hitch in forward movement, and a quick blink of the optics, off-on. She waved sheepishly at the last one, Hoist, who stammered something that could have been either a quick greeting or a garbled recitation of _The Jabberwocky. _There was no way to tell.

Of course, the armor-melting glare that Ratchet directed toward any and all who set optics upon them might have had something to do with the strange reactions. No one could say that Metellus Cursor's crew had anything less than impeccable self-preservation instincts where a certain riled medic was concerned.

Evelyn relaxed a bit as an alternate theory came to mind.

_No more Sideswipe means no more weird energy signature. These guys are so used to be lighting up like a solar flare, it must be weird to see me 'normally.'_

_They'll get used to it._

She tensed up all over again, however, when she caught sight of the two mechs standing outside the meeting room door – one sunshine yellow, the other brilliant scarlet.

As they neared, both mechs glanced toward her, Sunstreaker's optics narrow and contemplative, Sideswipe's wide and somewhere between curious and anxious. A strange beat of quiet happiness thrummed through Evelyn as she saw the rich sapphire hue of the yellow warrior's optics.

"You must be feeling better," she said.

Half of her (or more than half, really) did not expect the warrior to respond at all, but he tilted his helm in a noncommittal Cybertronian shrug. Sideswipe fidgeted, looking like nothing so much as an overgrown kid waiting outside the principal's office.

"I'll need to speak with Optimus first," said Ratchet to her. "Just a breem. You'll be alright out here?"

An odd undertone to his voice suggested that if the answer were 'no' then there were going to be two very sorry Lamborghinis subjected to his wrath. It was comforting, in a vaguely disturbing way.

She nodded, and the medic turned pointedly toward Sunstreaker, who hesitated for a moment before holding out his hands for her to slide over. Ratchet directed a sizzling glare at the warrior, systems revving, before he disappeared into the meeting room, the door closing behind him with a hiss.

"He's in a pretty good mood today, I think," she chirped with false cheer, too-aware of the swathe of red at the corner of her vision. She could feel him watching her, still with those wide, curious eyes.

She glanced toward him. The heavy knot of tension and grief in her chest was too close to that one felt when a dear friend died, but this, perhaps, was worse.

Sideswipe was here. He was alive. But he wasn't _her _Sideswipe anymore. So in a way, yes, a dear friend had died, and she wondered how much of that friend remained in the mech before her.

She realized suddenly that though Sideswipe's and Sunstreaker's frames were notably different, the shapes of their faces were the same – the same straight noses and gently curved mouths and strong jaws.

_In that, at least, they're twins, _she thought.

But Sunstreaker's visage was cool and uncaring while Sideswipe's was open and inquiring, he studying her as much as she did him.

She rubbed a hand over her face, frowning, then glanced at the mech again.

Coming to a decision, she braced on hand on Sunstreaker's curled fingers and rose to her feet. Sideswipe watched her intently, and when she beckoned him nearer, he frowned.

"You're not gonna throw something at me again, are you?"

She shook her head and sighed, beckoning again. The red mech sidled nearer. When he was close enough, she held out her right hand.

"You don't remember me… but my name is Evelyn Meredith Hughes. You can call me Evy."

He eyed her hand for a moment, but she held it out stubbornly. Finally, he raised his own hand and placed the tip of his finger in her palm.

"I'm Sideswipe," he said, sounding bemused at the whole situation. "It's nice to meet you… again?"

They shook.

"We're going to be very good friends," said Evelyn with bold certainty. Her heart ached at the unknowing look in his optics, but she pressed that feeling deeper down within herself where she would not have to deal with it. She forced a grin. "I know way too much about you for us not to be."

His optics flickered in a blink, and he glanced at Sunstreaker. The yellow mech smirked at his sibling. 'You're stuck with her,' his expression seemed to say. 'You poor slagger, you.'

The door beside them hissed open. Optimus Prime's voice drifted out, deep and resonant.

"Evelyn, would you join us?"

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe entered the room. Evelyn's memories flashed to the last time she was in the room; the same mechs sat around the immense table, all the officers aboard Metellus Cursor: Optimus Prime, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, Bumblebee, Ironhide, and Red Alert. She wondered briefly if Metellus himself were an officer or if it even mattered, as he was technically present whether or not anyone wanted him to be.

Sunstreaker lowered her to the table and stepped back, ready to leave.

"What about us?" asked Sideswipe.

Glances were exchanged around the table. Finally, Optimus beckoned with one hand.

"You can remain if you like, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker. I suppose this would concern you as well."

The Lamborghini twins exchanged a glance. Sunstreaker tilted his head in a shrug and turned to lean his shoulders against the wall beside the closed door. Sideswipe moved to stand beside him.

Optimus turned his gaze toward Evelyn.

There was something about the Prime's eyes that made something within Evelyn shiver – not in fright, because the mech did not scare her, but in an inexplicable awareness of power. There was something about Optimus Prime that made one _know _that he was a great mech. Perhaps one would call it an aura. His optics seemed to see more of her than most did.

"How are you, Evelyn?"

"I, uh…" There was also something about him that made her stammer like a schoolgirl giving her first book report. "I'm… good. No more headaches. I'm not as twitchy as I was. And I don't feel like sleeping so much, so that's got to be good, right? Er… how are you?"

A matched pair of amused rumbles from behind her. She resisted an urge to turn and glare at the pair of Lamborghinis.

A tilt at the corner of the Prime's eyes suggested a smile.

"I'm well, thank you. And I'm glad to hear that you're feeling better."

"Thank you." She smiled. "I can't wait to go home."

Silence.

She noticed for the first time the tense atmosphere in the room, the pale optics of the officers, the subtle hum of systems running at above-normal energy settings.

"I can go home now, right?" she asked, a strange, unnamed fear rising within her at the grim expressions surrounding her. "You said I could go home."

"Evelyn, there's been a complication."

"What? What do you mean 'complication'? Like, _we-forgot-to-put-gas-in-the-shuttle_ complication, or _ten-seconds-to-warp-core-breach_ complication?"

Optimus glanced at Ratchet. Ratchet turned to Evelyn.

"Evelyn, when we extracted Sideswipe's spark, we found something else."

Evelyn stared at the medic. Her thoughts raced: _Found? Found what? Blood clot, tumor, aneurism, infection, brain damage…_

Almost gently, Ratchet said, "Evelyn, the Key wasn't destroyed."

Her first thought was, _That's great!_

Her second: _waitasecond._

And third: _… oh, no._

Her ears were still ringing – her body was still sensitive to the energy of Cybertronians. Why would she still be sensitive if Sideswipe's presence was what caused it? He was gone; she should be back to normal.

But she wasn't.

_Oh, god, no._

"So take it out!" she said, voice sharp. "Take it out and let me go home!"

"We don't have the resources to repair the Key's shell," said Optimus heavily. "We'd have to return to the Hub and perhaps gather a scientific team there to research a solution. We need to speak with the Autobot Council to discuss a plan of action. There are those who believe it would be safest to bring you with us to the Hub."

And the world fell out from underneath her feet.

The mechs seemed to loom around her larger than ever before. Instead of the size of a cat, she felt smaller than a mouse, surrounding by glaring blue optics. Her eyes darted from mech to mech, seeing the grim expressions and clenched hands and Ratchet's sizzling glare.

"_You lied to me!" _

A ripple went through the seated mechs. She focused upon the medic even as she backed away, the age-old instincts of fight-or-flight rising within her.

"You lied to me! You said I was going home! _You lied!"_

"Evelyn–"

And then a new voice from behind her, Sideswipe: "That's not fair!"

Suddenly the officer's were not looking at Evelyn but past her, focusing on the red warrior who now loomed behind the woman.

Sideswipe's systems snarled fiercely, setting the air itself to trembling.

"You can't do that. And if you try it, you're gonna have an even bigger problem to worry about than a little organic femme feeling homesick."

"_Two _bigger problems," rumbled Sunstreaker mildly, still leaning beside the door.

"That's mutiny," snapped Red Alert.

"That's Primus-honest truth," growled Sideswipe.

A hard silence settled over the room, broken only by the rumbling of the mechs' systems.

Then, quietly, came Jazz's voice: "Attaboy, Sides."

The saboteur's expression was still grim, but a faint approving grin hovered at the edge of his mouth.

"There's some things more important than logic an' security protocols."

"And if you had given us another minute to explain," growled Ratchet, eyeing Evelyn, "we would have told you that while it would have been safest for _us, _it probably would have killed _you. _I wouldn't have allowed it."

"I was attempting to explain the situation fully," said Optimus Prime. "I apologize. I did not mean to imply that you weren't returning home, simply that this is a dilemma that requires we rethink our original plans."

Still shaky with adrenaline, Evelyn drew in a deep breath and let it out in a slow, calming rush. She lowered herself to a sitting position.

_It's okay, _she told herself, repeating it as a mantra. _I'm going home. It's okay. I'm going home. It's okay…_

"There will have to be security measures put in place," said Optimus. "I'm sorry to say, your energy signature is now recognizable as a mildly altered version of the Key's documented energy signature. Even aboard Metellus, the change has caused a bit of a stir. Wheeljack and Ratchet are both working on a way to hide that from scanners, something small enough that it won't hinder you."

"Okay," she breathed, still trying to absorb the situation.

"Also… Evelyn, the Key is a priceless item to Cybertronians. For the Autobot cause… it could help us turn the tide of the war, giving us a way to bolster our ranks. We can't leave it – you – unguarded."

_Oh._

"I'll be organizing a team to remain on Earth."

_Oh, dear._

"They'll keep watch and act as a forward guard against any Decepticons that make their way to Earth. They'll keep you safe."

She felt as though someone had just punched her solidly between the eyes.

_Giant… alien… robot… bodyguards._

"I will take the rest of the crew with Metellus Cursor to the Hub to meet with the Autobot Council and explain the situation." He must have seen the dazed expression upon her face, for he prompted, "Evelyn? Do you understand?"

She nodded mutely, still caught on the thought of _bodyguards. _

Abruptly, she giggled.

Blue optics focused upon her from every angle.

"Evelyn?"

She giggled again (a slightly watery giggle, and she scrubbed one hand fiercely over her eyes to do away with the unwanted moisture) and managed to focus on the imposing figure of the Autobot Prime.

"I guess Earth's getting that protection order after all, huh?"

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty-Five

* * *

**

**A/N: **Yes. Yes, you read correctly. **Transformers: Juxtaposition**, all soon-to-be-forty chapters and hundred-thousand-plus words of it, _is a prologue._ (Insert evil cackle here.)

Seriously, who saw that coming? I know some of you did.


	37. Return

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** On today's episode of _Strangely Ironic:_ I've been accused of plagiarizing myself. XD For those interested, please take time to visit my profile and read the note at the top.

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Six

* * *

**

_**Marcus Aurelius: **__When was the last time you were home?  
__**Maximus: **__Two years, two hundred and sixty-four days and this morning.__**  
**_**- Gladiator

* * *

**

She took her time getting dressed that morning. If asked, she would not have been able to explain why other than that age-old desire to look one's best on important occassions.

… even if that meant spending an entire hour wrestling her hair into some vague semblance of a braid while a certain white and red mech grumbled and growled and otherwise made a very obvious, impatient nuisance of himself.

"I would have thought," said Ratchet, enunciating with the careful precision of the terminally annoyed, "that you would have been in a much bigger hurry to return to your home."

She 'hmm'ed a reply and scrubbed her face briskly with a dampened scrap of towel.

"You've certainly seemed eager to get back up until this point."

She dried her face and checked her clothing: an oversized (but clean) t-shirt over the orange-ish, brown-ish skirt. A fashionista would faint at the sight of her, but she figured that cleanliness ranked above style at this point, especially considering her limited wardrobe options.

"You _do _want to go home, do you not?"

She glared over her shoulder at the mech. Ratchet matched the expression, blue optics squinted and bright.

"No offense," she said at last, "but the next time you get captured and spend a year or two separated from your family, come and find me and we'll talk about all the little details of re-entering society, 'kay?"

He snorted.

"If you want to make it by the end of this day-cycle, I suggest you get in gear. Sideswipe has been dithering in the hallway for half a joor now. Something about 'seeing you off,' whatever the frag that means."

She pursed her lips and sighed through her nose.

"Sideswipe…" she murmured.

* * *

_She came into the 'bay late during one of her night-cycles to find Ratchet standing at one of the worktables, quietly contemplating an array of various parts. He glanced at her briefly but said nothing. Unable to sleep, she decided to ask him the question that had been weighing on her thoughts over the past several days._

"_Ratchet… When humans lose their memory, sometimes you can… remind them. Show them places they should know, tell them stories, that kind of thing. It helps them remember."_

"_It won't work."_

_Evelyn's gaze dropped to the gleaming floor, some half-formed hope within her melting away. _

_The mech regarded her with light-blue optics, and for a moment, she could almost grasp how ancient he was, how much he had seen… how much he had lost, because he was a medic, and part of being a medic was knowing that you could not save everyone. _

"_Our memories work differently than yours. When you lose memories, they're still retained within your neurological tissues; you just can't access them because the pathways are damaged. While he was in your body, Sideswipe's spark must have used your brain in place of memory chips. In his own body, he does not have access to that data. If he remembers anything, it will be spark-memory, and you were together for a very short time in terms of Cybertronians. If there are spark-memories, they will likely be too indistinct for him to access with any reliability."_

_And with those words, the hope of reviving the Sideswipe she knew was gone._

_The words were out before she could stop them: "It feels like he died."_

"_He did." There was no emotion in Ratchet's voice. It was a simple statement of fact. _I am an Autobot, the sun rises in the East, and Sideswipe died. _"We all do, eventually. But you remember him as he was, and you have a chance now to know him as he is."_

_For the briefest second, it was as though she could see into the years to come, and she wondered if she would be one of the ones Ratchet remembered.

* * *

_

When Ratchet emerged from the medbay, Evelyn cradled upon his palm, Sideswipe straightened from his place beside the door, and his gaze went immediately to the human's clothing. He smirked.

"Interesting color," said Sideswipe.

Evelyn tugged at the folds of the voluminous skirt, firmly telling herself that she was _not _blushing, no matter how hot her face felt.

"I didn't exactly get to go shopping with Jazz, wiseaft."

"I didn't say it was bad, did I?" The mech grinned and fell into step beside the medic.

"I had you in my head for a long, _long_ time, Sideswipe. Believe me, I know exactly what you mean by

'_interesting.'"_

The mech pouted (prompting a disgusted growl from Ratchet) and bent down until he was nearly on eye-level with her, all the while keeping easy pace with the medic's strides.

"You wound me, Evelyn Meredith Hughes. Deeply." Ignoring the increased snarling of the medic's systems, Sideswipe reached out and poked her in the chest. "Straight to the spark."

He then yelped as a red hand pressed over his face and _shoved._ Off-balance, the red and black mech careened into the wall with a raucous _clatter-clang-bang_ of metal on metal and slid to a sitting position on the floor, optics round with surprise. Ratchet continued walking.

"Nice," commented Evelyn.

"It's like having a sparkling onboard," grumbled the medic.

"Labradoodle, Ratchet. Look up 'labradoodle.'"

* * *

_Hands flat upon the table, chin propped atop them, Sideswipe stared at her. Evelyn leaned back against an empty energon cube and stared back._

"_You're fuzzy," said the mech at last._

"_Thank you."_

"_I mean, _all over. _Like… fuzz. Everywhere. What's with that?"_

"_It's a mammal thing."_

_He opened his mouth, but before he could ask, she said, "Look it up. Ratchet assures me he has the 'human files' nice and organized for everyone's convenience."_

_There was a brief moment then as his eyes narrowed and flickered, and Evelyn sent a long-suffering glance over at the all-too-amused form of Jazz. _

_It was like having to house-train a puppy just after you got your last dog to stop weeing on the carpet. They had already covered the basics (No snatching, no grabbing, no squeezing, no shaking, no shouting, no energy weapons, no unapproved chemical compounds, no _anything _that has the vaguest, slimmest, most infinitesimal chance of making Ratchet's systems fritz…), but there was so much that the warrior just Did Not Get._

"_What the frag is _lactation?"

_Ignoring the sound of Jazz spluttering energon out of his air intakes, Evelyn sighed._

No asking questions about human biology. Ever.

* * *

She had never been in the hangar bay before. It was a memorable experience.

_I could get lost in here, _she thought.

There were five shuttles – as large to Cybertronians as (or even larger than) a city bus was to humans – all lined up in an orderly row, snub-nosed and sleek and branded with Cybertronian lettering. They loomed around her like a series of metallic, multi-story mini-malls. The realization hit her with renewed force of just _how big _Metellus Cursor truly was. Being in the bay was almost like being outside, the ceiling so far overhead that, had it been painted blue, she might have convinced herself that she was looking at the sky.

The only thing she could compare it to was the first, last, and only time she had attended a professional football game – Atlanta Falcons versus Green Bay Packers at the Georgia Dome (the Falcons had lost). The hangar bay brought back to mind the impossibly immense feeling of being within the Georgia Dome, a structure that seemed, at least to her, far too large and empty to stand on its own.

Clustered at the side of one of the shuttles, a group of mechs watched her approach with bright blue optics. Jazz grinned the grin of the perpetually amused. Mirage stood with no discernable expression upon his face. Hound and Trailbreaker stood shoulder to shoulder, the green mech smiling broadly enough for both himself and his companion. Bumblebee waved cheerily. Bluestreak fidgeted beside the stoically immovable figure of Prowl. Sunstreaker glowered from the back of the group.

"Geeze," muttered Evelyn. "Who's left to steer the ship?"

Beside her, Sideswipe snickered, and for a brief moment, it felt like old times.

* * *

_Sunstreaker was… _

_Well, _easygoing _was not and never would be the correct term. The warrior was wound tighter than a bowstring at any given moment, but there was at least a hint of sanity about him now that Sideswipe was himself again._

_Evelyn noticed this mainly in the color of his optics, a rich sapphire instead of blue-bordering-on-psychotic-white, but it was also readily apparent one day as she witnessed him entering the rec room, following Sideswipe, and bumping shoulders with Trailbreaker._

_The black mech visibly stiffened, pulling away. Sunstreaker growled, "Get off me!" and shoved his way past the other mech. _

_Evelyn stared. Behind her, Bluestreak gave a startled rev. Significant glances were exchanged throughout the room, but they all shared the same thought:_

That's it?

Damn.

He _has _mellowed.

_Sideswipe took no notice, beelining for the energon dispensers, and Evelyn reflected that, had it been _her _Sideswipe, he would have thought the whole thing to be hilarious.

* * *

_

"It's just not going to be the same!" said Bluestreak. "I mean, who's going to sit with me when I'm on break and tell me all those strange things about Earth? And who's going to recite weird poetry until Hound snorts energon out his air intakes? And who's going to go swimming with us in the washracks? And–"

"Who's going to tie you up with energon filament and give Ratchet the surges trying to get it all loose?" asked Hound teasingly.

Bluestreak's vocalizer cut off mid-sentence with a strangled, staticky squeak. Rumbles came from all around, even (Evelyn noticed) from Prowl.

_That's one story he'll never live down, _she thought, caught between chagrin and fondness.

"It's not like you'll never see her again," growled Ratchet. "For Primus' sake, you're part of the away team! It won't even be an orn until you're planetside and gallivanting around with all the other aliens."

Bluestreak perked up immediately, his wing-panels twitching higher.

"Hey, that's right! Evelyn, do you think we can–"

"Blue," said Jazz, gently. "We really got t' get goin'."

"Oh."

Evelyn chuckled, bracing herself against the medic's upraised thumb, and stood.

"C'mere, Blue."

The young mech frowned but approached readily enough. She beckoned him nearer and nearer, grinning, until they were literally face-to-face.

"I'm gonna miss you, too ," she said, and she leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss at the tip of his nose.

The wide-optics and bemused little twist of his mouth made it worth it.

"What was that?"

"It's called a kiss. It's a sign of affection." She noted the little smear her lips had left on the polished metal and decided to leave it be. It would come off in the washracks later anyway.

"Oh." The bemused twist was gone, replaced with a beaming smile. "That's neat! Um…" He frowned for a moment, then the grin was back. He brought his finger to his mouth, pressed his lips to it, and then reached out to tap her ever… so… gently… upon the nose.

Evelyn burst out laughing, delighted. Bluestreak looked pleased with himself, stepping away.

Still grinning, Evelyn faced the rest of the assembly, spreading her arms.

"Okay? Who's next?"

Sideswipe took her up on that offer, as did Hound and Bumblebee. Trailbreaker declined, as did Prowl and Sunstreaker (no surprise).

Aware of the steadily-increasing snarling of the medic holding her, Evelyn pivoted neatly and looked up at Ratchet, crooking her finger. The snarling disappeared, and the medic stared down at her blankly.

"You didn't think you were getting away without one, huh, Ratchet?" Oddly euphoric from the strange sending-off, she bounced on her toes. "C'mon!"

Hesitantly, and with many dubious looks between her and the avidly watching crowd, the medic raised her to his level. He accepted the light peck upon his nose with good grace, but his entire frame jolted when, as he began to lower her, she dove forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging.

"_Evelyn?"_

"I'm going to miss you," she said. _So much._

She pulled away, wiping discreetly at her eyes. She now sat cradled in both his hands – precaution against another suicidal dive into space. He was good that way, saving her from her own stupidity time and time again (and saving her from Sideswipe's stupidity even more than that).

She wanted to say something meaningful. Something deep. _You saved me _or _I couldn't have made it without you _or…

She settled for, "Thanks."

* * *

_The scanning was getting out of hand. _

"_Ratchet, I swear, if you do your X-ray vision thing on me one more time, I'm going to start to glow in the dark!"_

_The medic snorted, glared, and promptly scanned her. She flopped to a seated position atop the table._

"_I don't get what you're so worked up about. I'm going back to my proper environment. I'm not going to set foot on terra firma and die from abrupt fresh air overload, you know."_

"_On the contrary, during your time onboard, you have not been exposed to a myriad of dangers that exist everywhere on your planet. Bacteria and viruses, allergens, pollutants–"_

"_Excuse me, I've been on a spaceship filled with _machines _for how long?"_

"_Cybertronian systems are very efficient," retorted the medic snippily. "Certainly moreso than anything your race has achieved so far."_

"_Nice to know where we sit on the technological totem-pole, Ratchet. Try dissing our religion and hygiene next. Those are always winners."_

_The medic eyed her suspiciously. "Are you menstruating again?"_

"_You tell me, Sir Scans-A-Lot."_

_Ratchet was silent for a long moment, his optics flickering faintly. _

_Abruptly, she started to chuckle._

"_What?" he demanded._

"_You are going to be so bored when I go home!" She grinned up at him. "I'm going to have to send you a bonsai tree, just to give you something to pick at!"

* * *

_

She suffered a brief panic attack when Jazz made as though to leave her in one of the small, featureless rooms. She remembered her body moving without her consent and being unable to breathe, remembered thinking _dear god, I'm going to die _when Sideswipe held her prisoner and first abducted her from her home.

Jazz soothed her, not fighting her as she clung to his hands with the stubbornness of a barnacle.

"Hey, hey, s'fine. I'll stay in here with ya. Ratchet just didn't want you up front with me an' Raj in case the shuttle ain't calibrated right. Shuttle can't keep an eye on ya like Met can, and this room's made to transport fragile stuff. S'okay. Raj can handle the pilotin'."

She still refused to release him, even when he dropped to a seated position against the wall. The room was tiny, in mech terms – Jazz's feet nearly reached the opposite wall when he laid his legs out straight.

And he started to talk.

Mechs joked about Jazz and his 'magic vocalizer.' For Evelyn, at that moment, it was no joke. She listened as he described missions he had been on and places he had seen. He told her about cities he had visited during his brief time on Earth and listed eighteen different car-washes he wanted to try and nine different race tracks he longed to get under his tires. He speculated about the age-old question of driving on a parkway and parking on a driveway and extolled at length about Earth music, listing bands and singers and styles in such detail that Evelyn suddenly felt as though she were the alien and Jazz the native.

And then:

"We're here."

* * *

"_Do you hate me?"_

"_What?"_

"_For getting you involved."_

"_No."_

"_I would."_

"_We've had this conversation before: you're not me."_

"_Yeah."_

"_Besides, I'm going home. I'm going to see my family again, have an actual wardrobe and a bathroom with a real toilet, get to eat anything I want, move back into my apartment – I'm going to have my life back."_

"_It's gonna be weird, huh?"_

"… _It's going to be very weird."

* * *

_

The trees were bare, and the air was chilled, and it was raining.

_November, _she thought, _or maybe December now._

She would have to ask one of the mechs.

Jazz and Mirage stood outside, gazing around silently, rain drumming quietly upon their armor. Jazz glanced back at Evelyn, standing just inside the shuttle door.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

She eased forward. The sky was so gray that it was almost white, the air cool but not bitingly so. The scent of wet earth filled her lungs, easing the memory of metal and ozone that she have lived with for so long. The rain fell in a curtain from the open doorway. She reached out to let it run over her hands, cold and clear.

She stepped from metal to earth. Rain pattered upon her head and shoulders, steadily dampening her hair and running over her skin like hundreds of tiny fingers.

It was like being purified.

She drew in a deep breath, realized that she had not replied, and looked up to find both mechs watching her intently.

"Can I just… Can I just stay here? Just for a second?"

The two mechs exchanged glances. Jazz tilted his head toward the shuttle, and Mirage ghosted back inside, moving with that eerie near-silence that no other mech could match. The black and white mech moved away a few paces and peered out through the trees, systems idling softly.

Evelyn sat inside the open door and watched the rain fall.

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty-Six**


	38. Home

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** For the record, I _highly _recommend the musical **Into the Woods** (source of this chapter's quote), especially the songs 'Giants in the Sky,' 'Last Midnight,' and… well, pretty much all of the songs. I'm such a broadway junkie…

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Seven

* * *

**

_The roof, the house, and your mother at the door,_

_The roof, the house, and the world you never thought to explore,_

_And you think of all of the things you've seen,_

_And you wish that you could live in between,_

_And you're back again only different than before,_

_After the sky._

– **Giants in the Sky, ****Into the Woods

* * *

**

Her apartment was gone.

Not changed. _Gone. _In its place rose the skeletal beginnings of a larger building, surrounded by orange construction fencing. A massive sign out front declared:

**CAUDAL CONSTRUCTION**

**706-828-4381**

**COMING SOON: NATIONS FEDERAL BANK**

"Guess those new zoning laws passed," she murmured, leaning her hips against the slick side of the Porsche.

She had thought, perhaps, that Jazz had taken a wrong turn, but she had directed him where to go from the point she had first recognized where they were. This was the right address. She recognized the quaint little bakery across the street. She had always loved their apple turnovers – they were the perfect treat on cold mornings when she had to drag herself to her early classes.

When she had seen the construction sight, her eyes had not wanted to believe it. She had scrambled out of the warm interior of the car and glanced left and right as though someone had borrowed her building and forgot to put it back where it belonged.

"Oh, god," she whispered.

The car behind her twitched – not something any casual passerby would see, but she felt it, and suddenly she saw the looks directed her way by the few people out and about on the dreary day. Suspicious, derisive, curious, bemused… a full array of expressions, perhaps because of her clothing and ragged appearance but more likely because of that and her current mode of transportation.

She mimed opening the driver's door and slid back into the heated interior.

"_Y'okay there_?" asked Jazz, the image of his face on the console screen radiating concern.

"All my stuff," she murmured. "Everything was in that apartment. My clothes, my computer, my furniture, my files…"

"_They wouldn't'a just chucked it,"_ said the mech, easing away from the curb and into the flow of traffic like a fish entering a stream. _"Storage, maybe?"_

She pressed her lips together, sighing through her nose. She clenched her hands together in her lap, but that did not stop the trembling.

"My parents," she said at last.

"_Jus' tell me where to turn."_

"Oak Grove. About an hour and a half from here. Take the interstate."

"_On it."_

She peered out at the city as it slid past, changes hitting her like punches to the gut. There was an ice-cream parlor where the video store used to be, and the video store now resided in a brand new building next to the Walmart. There was a new shopping mall: Target, Petsmart, and Badcock Furniture. The high school gym was gone, skeletal, charred remnants piled where it had once stood. A fire?

"You ever feel like you're about to fall off the world?" she asked quietly.

There was a brief pause, then, _"I'd catch you. An' if I missed, you'd never get past Met."_

She gave a quiet little huff of a laugh and looked away from the empty shell of a building that had once housed her favorite local bookstore.

* * *

"… this is it."

Her hands clenched around handfuls of her skirt, wrinkling the material until she could feel more than hear the seams creak in protest. The Porsche slowed, throbbing engine quieting briefly, as it approached the lonely red mailbox that stood as sentry where the gravel drive turned off through a stand of slim pine trees. Across the road the land stretched in gentle billows of pale yellow and sage green, tainted faintly blue-gray with the coming dusk.

Her eyes picked out too-familiar landmarks as tires crunched upon gravel and the car moved cautiously along the drive, across a lawn masked by pine needles toward a small brick house, one-story in the ranch style, surrounded by azalea bushes and gardens filled with colorful, glimmering knickknacks that seemed out of place in the wintertime grayness. There was the crooked birdhouse that Dick had brought home from shop class. There was the huge, iridescent glass ball –her childhood crystal ball, when she felt like playing at wizards and princesses– next to the rose vine that had been one of many Mother's Day presents cherished well beyond their actual value.

The drive curled around the side of the house and spread out into a kind of gravel-lined parking lot in front of the concrete porch; the front of the house actually faced away from the road, aimed toward where the land dropped away into a view of cow pasture and forest and lake.

'Parking lot' was an apt term. A blue coupe and ruby-red minivan dominated the scene in addition to the battered pickup and wood-paneled station wagon parked in the nearby barn-acting-as-garage. The Porsche parked away from all of them, nearly on the grass, and the rumble of the engine died away to a faint, barely-audible hum.

A moment of silence.

"_Evy?" _the car prompted.

"I know, Jazz."

She placed a hand upon the door. It swung open for her, letting in a gust of chilly, damp wind. Gravel crunched and rasped underfoot, the scents of wet grass and dirt and pine sap and (very faintly) cow manure wrapping around her. The entire messy, _organic _nature of it prompted a small shudder, and she was stunned to find herself longing for the sterility of an alien repair bay. At the back of her mind, the irrational fear of falling off of the Earth and being swallowed by that too-big, too-open expanse of sky lurked still.

_My own special form of PTSD, _she thought. _Oh, dear._

The door closed behind her, and she moved with the sluggish pace of one walking through a dream that could too-easily morph into a nightmare. She glanced at the vanity plate of the minivan as she passed.

**3LIL-UNS**.

Her breath hitched.

_Three?_

"Oh, no…"

"Barwuff?" inquired a hoarse voice, somewhere in the vicinity of her knees.

A gray- and white- speckled head peered up at her from beneath the van, eyes a deep, soulful brown. Gravel rasped as the hound belly-crawled out from beneath the vehicle, nose working industriously, whip-thin tail giving an uncertain wave.

"Boomer?"

She extended her hand, and the dog gave it a welcoming lick, warm-cold and slimy and just as she remembered, but he remained in a half-hunched position, ears drooping, despite the ongoing swaying of his tail.

She huffed a little laugh, scratching behind the velvet-soft ears, noting silver hairs around the hound's muzzle that she did not remember. "Well, at least you're still here, boy-o. My big, bad Boomerang. Still giving the cows hell, huh, buddy?"

The dog glanced toward Jazz, ears half-pricking, before his entire posture drooped once more into one of fearful submission, tail tucking between his hind legs, and he crawled back beneath the minivan with a whimper.

Evelyn looked at the Porsche then back down at the dog's hiding place. She allowed herself a small, sardonic smile.

"Maybe your disguise technology isn't as foolproof as you think," she murmured, knowing that the car was perfectly able to hear her. A faint hum/rumble was the only reply.

That, and the click-squeal-rasp of the house door opening.

"I thought I heard someone drive up," said a mild, male voice. "Sorry, usually the dog kicks up… a… fuss…"

As Evelyn turned to face the speaker, a whip-thin man, brown-haired and hazel-eyed, his voice slowed and stumbled to a halt. Lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth –lines that Evelyn did not remember seeing before—deepened, aging him drastically.

"Vee?"

"… hello, Dick."

He took a step nearer, hesitated, and then advanced a few more unsteady paces, lips parted, one hand rising toward her.

"_Vee?" _he repeated.

She caught the hand as it came in reach. His fingers were cold, trembling, as were her own.

Then, softly, barely a breath: "What _happened _to you?"

"I—" Her voice shuddered, cracked, and terrible pressure built behind her eyes, squeezing the back of her throat, until it was all she could do to breathe.

The dam of decorum and self-control that she had so carefully maintained since the very beginning of this whole horrible, breathtaking, unbelievable adventure trembled, cracked, and disintegrated.

"Dick…"

Her throat closed, her sight blurred, and her cheeks burned as torrents of white-hot tears cascaded down and fell onto her shirt… and onto his shirt, too, because she was suddenly pressed into a chest that smelled of aftershave and _dog, _and how odd that, even as an adult, he still managed to smell somehow of wet fur even though she doubted he spent any of his time roughhousing with Boomer now that he lived all the way across the continent…

This was not the hushed, shamed crying that most adults employed. This was harsh and raw, gasping sobs until she thought she'd never be able to breathe again, and it _hurt, _and why, oh, why did anyone ever think that crying was dramatic and beautiful, because she knew exactly what she'd look like when this was over and done with, and beautiful was _not_ it.

But that didn't matter, because she was here, finally home, and all the giant alien robots could go sit on a fencepost and _rotate_, thank-you-very-much.

Arms squeezed her until she felt her ribs creak, but she did not mind, barely even noting when the chest that she was hugging with equal fervor vibrated, the force of his yell travelling through her entire body.

"—ma! _Mama! _Dad! Lizzy! Come quick! It's Evelyn!"

He continued to shout, hugging her so tightly that she could barely breathe, and then there was pandemonium. The screen door shrieked open, voices shouted. There was movement and faces and hands touching and too much noise, as though the entire world had come alive around her, and she could not stop crying.

"Where have you been?"

"What happened to you?"

"We thought you were dead!"

"Why didn't you call?"

"What are you wearing?"

"Are you alright?"

"Oh, you're so thin…"  
"We couldn't find you!"

"The police said…"

"Are you hurt?"

"We've been so worried!"

"What's going on?"

"Evelyn?"

"Evy?"

"Vee?"

"Auntie Evy!"

"Evelyn!"

"Evy!"

"Hush…" Warm arms wrapped around her, pulling her head down to nestle against the shoulder of one who smelled of baking bread and cinnamon and Jessica McClintock perfume, shielding her from the clamoring voices and the hands reaching for her. Those arms held her and soothed her as she clung to the smaller figure and sobbed. "Oh, my baby. My poor baby. It's okay. Everything's going to be just fine. You're home now."

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty-Seven**


	39. Talk

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **mild cursing

**Author Notes:** Almost there! XD I can't believe all the hits this gets. The prologue is complete and post-ready, but I may hold off 'til tomorrow to post. Don't want ya'll getting spoiled now. (Ha.)

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Chapter Thirty-Eight

* * *

**

_I ran out of gas! I got a flat tire! I didn't have change for cab fare! I lost my tux at the cleaners!  
I locked my keys in the car! An old friend came in from out of town! Someone stole my car!  
There was an earthquake! A terrible flood! Locusts! It wasn't my fault, I swear to god!__**  
**_**- Jake Blues, ****The Blues Brothers

* * *

**

Evelyn barely had time for the thought of _I wonder what Jazz thinks of all this _before the entire mess of people and voices somehow migrated into the house.

Elizabeth, the middle sibling, and her husband Robert were there, along with their two children, Zachary and Jessica, as well as a new arrival that both thrilled and saddened Evelyn: little Meredith Lynn, sleeping soundly in her carrier despite all the ruckus.

"She's named for you," Elizabeth told her, deftly plucking the sleeping form from the nest of blankets and plunking her into Evelyn's arms. "She's just at four months."

Evelyn found herself enchanted by the tiny little hands and dark-lashed eyes, but then Richard was there, pulling her toward the couch, baby and all.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, over his shock and now cruising toward irritation. "Where in all the hells could you have been for over a _year_ that you couldn't have called us?"

"Watch your language," snapped Elizabeth, thwapping their older brother upside the head with the same apparent ease with which she had handled little Meredith.

"Sorry…"

Richard was there with Janice, a vaguely familiar face from past reunions, thin and blonde and very much the walking definition of _chic._

_Who else would wear stilettos to a farm?_

There was a Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, nestled alongside the television, but there were no presents beneath it. The air was filled with the scent of Southern Home Cookin' at its best, the large dining room table set with the good china.

"What is everyone doing here?" she asked. "I mean… God, it's so good to see all of you." She had to gulp back what could have turned into a new tide of tears, because her eyes, nose, and cheeks had suffered enough trauma for one day, thanks. "But I thought it'd just be mama and daddy."

"Well, we had a bit of an announcement," said Janice, laying her hand on Richard's bicep and smiling. "I'm afraid you may have stolen our thunder a bit."

A diamond twinkled brightly upon her finger, and Evelyn blinked at it stupidly.

"Married?"

"Not yet! Oh, Rick, now I know who can be my last bridesmaid. This is perfect!"

The thoughts of _Is she for real? _and _'Rick'? _warred for dominance within Evelyn's mind, but then a massive, calloused hand settled on the back of her neck, and Evan Hughes pulled her close to his side to press a kiss to the side of her head.

"Explanations, Evelyn," he said, eyes bright. He kissed her head again, and she suspected that she would have been in for one of her father's bear hugs if it were not for the babe in her arms. He whispered, "I've missed you so much."

"Explanations indeed," said Maria, coming to her daughter's other side and touching her shoulder. Evelyn could not help but smile.

"Explanations," she agreed, and her stomach clenched.

Prowl had spoken to her extensively before she had left Metellus. There had been many meetings with him and with Optimus Prime and with Jazz. Possible avenues had been discussed and debated over and over until they had found themselves talking in circles.

But the end result had been the same.

"_We are a race that has survived because of our ability to disguise ourselves. Secrecy is all that will keep us safe. We cannot afford to have both humans and Decepticons as our enemies, not with the few mechs we will be able to assign to aid you, and there is no guarantee that your race will accept us. From what you've told us, there is a high chance that they will react with fear and hostility. You cannot tell anyone about us."_

Sitting on the well-worn couch, facing a room of expectant faces, her arms filled with a niece she had met mere minutes prior, she began.

It was an intricate blend of truth and lies, a story that Prowl and Jazz had dedicated themselves to crafting and teaching Evelyn until she could recite it forwards, backwards, and sideways.

"Witness protection," she said.

The day that Jamie had alerted the Hughes' Family Grapevine of Evelyn's first, brief disappearance, she had witnessed a crime in progress and had been abducted by the criminals in question.

"What kind of crime?"

"You heard about that car gang in Mason? They were stealing stuff all over the place, and not just in Georgia."

She had managed to escape – sheer stupid luck on her part and sheer stupidity on the part of her abductors – but it had not ended there. She had been approached by law enforcement (heavy hints indicated federal agents) and informed that she was now an instrumental witness in a case being built against what was growing to be a massive crime syndicate across the Southern states.

"What, really?"

"Yeah, tell me about it."

"The police wouldn't tell us anything!"

"Well, they wouldn't, would they?"

And they had made her disappear.

"I didn't want to go," she said, and that was God's purest truth. "They wouldn't let me contact you – said it would have been too dangerous. They took me somewhere, but I'm not sure exactly where–" Also true. "–but I'm pretty sure it wasn't in the States." _Very _true. "They were really nice and kept me safe, but they said I couldn't come back until they built a good enough case against the syndicate. As soon as the criminals were arrested and convicted, they let me come back."

And the questioning began.

She was grateful to the mechs who had drilled her endlessly on the story. Janice was sharper than her fashionista appearance led Evelyn to believe, and that had rubbed off on Richard to an alarming degree. What kind of crimes was she talking about? Why had they never heard of this 'syndicate'? Where had she been taken? She was a language guru, was she not? Did she not recognize the language/dialect/accent of the locals? What were the names of the criminals? Why had they not seen the trials on television?

_Thank god for paranoid intergalactic military tacticians, _she thought, and she began to pick her way through the minefield of questions.

* * *

In all the hubbub, Evelyn almost missed when her mother stood and retreated toward the bedrooms. She was in the middle of repeating her story for what had to be the fifth time – _practice, practice, practice, _she thought – but excused herself. Her brother did not take the hint.

"Where are you off to now?"

Elizabeth promptly elbowed him in the ribs, and Janice rolled her eyes. The two women gave sympathetic smiles while Richard hunched over his injured side, muttering about broken ribs, and Zack and Jessie laughed. Robert had gone into the game room to change the baby's diaper. In the background, Evelyn's father continued to speak on the phone with the latest in the extensive list of family and friends that needed to be notified of Evelyn's rise from the grave.

And she _did _have a grave, and wasn't that a thought to keep one up at night? Elizabeth had already volunteered to visit with her.

Evelyn retreated down the dark hallway, past the guest bedroom and bathroom to the closed door at the end. Hesitant, she stood a moment outside, working up her courage, before she rapped lightly upon the wood with her fingernails.

"Mama?"

"Come in."

Her mother sat on the edge of the king-sized bed, rumpling the red and white quilt. Her hands lay folded in her lap, the yellow light of the bedside lamp throwing the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth into stark relief. There was a strange expression upon Maria Hughes' face… almost sad.

Evelyn closed the door behind her.

When her mother said nothing, she ventured, "Mama? Are you okay?"

"I never thought you'd lie to me."

The room suddenly seemed far too small, and her lungs ached as though all air had been sucked from them, leaving her gasping.

"I didn't…" she began.

"I know you, Evy. Better than anyone save the Lord himself. You're lying, but I don't understand why."

_Secrecy is all that will keep us safe. _

The look in her mother's eyes – the same brown eyes she saw each time she looked in the mirror – seemed to pierce straight through her.

She was six years old again, staring in horror at the shattered remnants of a favored heirloom figurine. She was eight and had just knocked Lizzie off the fishing pier. She was fourteen and rebellious and angry and hurt, and she had just spoken the words _I hate you _to her mother for the first and only time in her life.

Voice strangled to barely more than a whisper, she said, "I told all the truth I could."

"Witness protection program?"

"Close enough. I witnessed; I was protected."

"Out of the country."

"Yes."

"But not the police."

"No."

"What aren't you telling me?"

"I can't."

That melancholy look surfaced again, and then Evelyn was beside her mother on the bed, wrapping her hands around her mother's and so overcome by the opposing needs to explain herself and protect _everyone _that it was almost a physical pain.

"I _can't. _Not won't – can't! I'd tell you if I could, Mama. Please, believe me. It… it's not safe."

The last sounded weak, even though it was the truth.

One of the hands sandwiched between her palms slid free, laying itself atop hers.

"Safe?" Maria looked into Evelyn's face as though she could read the truth there.

"There are some very dangerous people, Mama. They… The day I disappeared, the day Jamie called ya'll lookin' for me? That was because of them."

"Did they hurt you?"

"Scrapes and bruises. Some people saved me, but it wasn't safe around here, and they took me away to keep me safe."

"… You're telling the truth," said Maria, sounding puzzled. "Evelyn, that doesn't make any sense."

"I know," said Evelyn miserably.

"What about now?"

"It's complicated."

"Are you safe now?"

"As safe as I can be. The other people, the good people… They're still around. They're here to protect me."

"And you trust them."

It was not a question, but Evelyn felt the need to answer anyway.

"With my life."

Maria sighed, and then she was reaching out and wrapping her arms around her daughter, pulling Evelyn near until her head was nestled close to her mother's neck and vice versa.

"I suppose that's all I can ask for."

There was a short rap upon the door, and Evan poked his head around the frame. Evelyn and Maria pulled apart, each wiping at her eyes. Evan pretended not to notice.

"I think you might want to scrounge up some more chairs and dishes, Maria. Vince, Carol, Titus, and Christine are all on their way, and there's probably gonna be more once the grapevine kicks in."

"Lord save us," said Maria, laughing a little unsteadily. "Your mother?"

"My mother has a strict policy of no driving after dark. You're safe until tomorrow, but she has no problem being on the road at the crack of dawn."

"Oh, dear." Maria patted Evelyn's hands and stood, straightening her skirt and tucking stray hairs back into her braid. "I think I can come up with something if you'll get out the extra table and chairs."

"I'll get them."

Evan left. Maria turned to Evelyn.

"Shall we?"

* * *

**End Chapter Thirty-Eight**


	40. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Transformers. All recognizable characters are the property of HasTak. All unrecognizable ones are the intellectual property of yours truly; their theft is punishable by severe voodoo-induced pain in any and all sensitive organs of the body, followed by eternal damnation.

Because, you know, stealing is wrong.

* * *

**Title: **Juxtaposition

**Summary: **Transformers AU. She saved his life... and did not even know it. A series of unrelated events results in an earth-shattering meeting between species, cultures, and minds that is merely the beginning of so very much more.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **none

**Author Notes:** Thank yous go out to everyone who helped support and inspire me throughout this, particularly **Cafei**, who has managed to keep me sane (a task that is much, much harder than it sounds). Thank you to everyone who reviewed, everyone who drew artsies or wrote stories for me, and everyone who readily offered to support Evelyn in any form of revenge against Sideswipe that she might desire to undertake. You guys rock. :3

Yes, this is a very short chapter. It's more to bring everything full circle than to add to the plot or answer questions, and I know there are some (tiny and not-so-tiny) plotlines left dangling, but just hang in there. There'll be plenty of time to tie things up – and then re-tangle them unmercifully – in the next installment.

'Til then, this is Vaeru, signing off!

* * *

**Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Epilogue

* * *

**

_It's kind of like when you go on vacation: you plan everything out, but then one day  
you make a wrong turn, or take a detour, and you end up in some crazy place you can't  
even find on the map, doing something you never thought you'd do. Maybe you feel a  
little lost while it's happening, but later you realize it was the best part of the whole trip.  
_**- Eddie, ****Threesome

* * *

**

"Cured?"

The doctor regarded her somberly over the top edge of his glasses. His pen stilled its steady _skritch-skritch_ing movement upon the pad of paper, and Evelyn smiled.

"It's gone," she said. "Completely. I'm myself and just myself, and the voice hasn't come back at all."

The doctor glanced down at the notepad, flipping back a few pages.

"It says here that you participated in a sort of long-term group therapy somewhere in Virginia."

"Yes. A colleague of mine recommended it. They're a little-known group, but their track record speaks for itself."

"I find such a swift recovery intriguing," he replied in an 'I don't really believe you, but I will humor you' tone of voice. "And you think this... experimental therapy—" There was a hint of professional disdain in his voice, quickly masked, but her experiences with another, much different doctor had given her a sixth sense when it came to such things, a 'snark-o-meter', so to speak. "—helped you so swiftly? Such cases are exceedingly rare."

"I consider myself lucky, then."

The doctor made a thoughtful noise. "Very intriguing."

"So, am I cured?"

"It is perhaps a step in the right direction." The pen _skritch-skritch_ed several swift notes. "I'll want to see you for several more visits, just to be certain, you understand."

"Of course," she agreed demurely.

* * *

Evelyn wrapped her coat tightly around herself to ward off the biting January chill. Everything was dull and gray beneath the shrouded winter skies, but the cherry-red Lamborghini stood out in the parking lot like the brightest of holly-berries upon fallen snow. She smiled a quick greeting at a passing couple as she trotted down the short flight of steps, and the sports-car met her at the sidewalk, engine rumbling impatiently as its passenger-side door opened.

She slid into the marginally warmer cabin and pulled her feet in quickly as the door shut behind her. The seatbelt wrapped itself around her as the car, without any driver to guide it, made a smooth circuit around the small parking lot and headed for the exit. The video screen nestled in the console blinked to life. A silver face, framed by a black helm, regarded her with narrowed blue eyes.

"_Exactly how often are you planning on coming here?"_ it demanded, voice seeming to emerge from everywhere and nowhere at once. _"I think my circuits have frost on them."_

"Heat, please?" Evelyn shivered. "I can't feel my toes."

The car pulled out into traffic and settled into a brisk pace down the road. Warm air blasted out of the vents, thawing her extremities.

"_You didn't answer my question."_

"Every Saturday morning for at least the next three weeks," she replied.

The engine's purr rose into something more like a whine.

"_You've gotta' be glitched," _grumbled the car. _"How come I've gotta' haul you back and forth, anyway? Jazz likes you. He'd give you a ride. Or the rookie, even."_

"Until I get my car back—the one that you totaled; you do remember that much, correct?—I'm afraid that you're stuck with me."

"_... Prowl's such a slag-sucker."_

She laughed. "He seemed to think that _you_ suffering because of _me_ for a change was a rather fair trade, actually."

"_I don't even remember anything that I'm being punished for. How's that fair?"_

Evelyn smirked and patted the dashboard, prompting a low growl from the engine.

"Shut up, Sideswipe."

* * *

**End Transformers: Juxtaposition**

**Part I of the Sparkbearer Saga

* * *

**

_**Coming Soon to Fanfiction. net:**_

**Transformers: Schism**

**Part II of the Sparkbearer Saga

* * *

**

**FAQ:**

**What does 'juxtaposition' mean?**

Juxtaposition – 1. An act or instance of placing close together or side by side, esp. for comparison or contrast. 2. The state of being close together or side by side. ()

**How exactly did Sideswipe get into Evelyn's head?**

After crash-landing on Earth, Sideswipe placed the Key within his chest cavity to protect it – the Key is composed of a formed-energy code akin to a Cybertronian's spark, thus making it impossible to subspace without damaging or destroying it (see Wheeljack's scientific jargon in ch. 11: Awkward). When he was caught by Decepticons, his spark chamber was breached and the Key was damaged, either during the forced opening of his chest armor or during his escape. After the collision with Evelyn, the Key reached out toward the exposed spark, attempting to save it per its own programming, but it also sensed that its vessel was too damaged to contain itself or the spark safely. The Key, like all formed-energy codes, possessed a rudimentary form of sentience. When Evelyn accidentally made contact with it, it recognized Evelyn's nervous system as a possibly viable container for an energy code and subsequently transferred itself and Sideswipe's spark into her body. The shock of the transfer knocked Evelyn unconscious for the next two weeks while her body and brain adjusted to the foreign presences.

**Evelyn speak and understand Cybertronian but can't write or read it? What's up with that?**

During the two weeks Evelyn spent unconscious in the hospital, Sideswipe slowly woke up. Though Evelyn and Sideswipe could communicate through very direct, intentional thoughts, there was always a sort of 'background chatter' that was each other's ongoing thoughts. While Evelyn was unconscious, Sideswipe's consciousness battered her with his ongoing 'stream-of-thought.' Like a child learning a new language, Evelyn absorbed the Cybertronian language by hearing Sideswipe 'speaking' constantly within her mind – it was not a download, as some people believe, but a kind of unconscious learning. She cannot read or write Cybertronian because she has not learned it yet; her only exposure to it has been seeing bits and pieces around Metellus and having Jazz show her the glyphs for various mechs' names.

**Wait, you mean there's more story coming after this?**

Frag, yeah.


End file.
